I thought I would have had a new coldframe by now, but the only new thing in the garden is a fox hole. It would be more polite of them to direct their exemplary digging skills towards where we’re excavating for new foundations, but so it goes.
I’m writing this, then, in the hope that it will spur me on to order one. I like to think that, one day, in a fantasy life, I might be a greenhouse person. I’d fill it up with pelargonium cuttings and orange blossom and hold tiny little lunch parties for one. Or maybe have a clever walk-through one like Mary Keen’s – genius for making sure you go in there, what with it being on the path. But I think of glasshouse life in the same way I think of one day learning Italian. It’s a nice idea, but unlikely to happen.
