Our Hydrangeas are glorious at the moment, each a slightly different take on the next, as their heads gently nod in the breeze.
Colours as dreamy as an eyeshadow palette from a bygone era.
It's only a matter of time before they move into their faded, vintage phase.
We have both mophead and lacecap flowers. Lacecap is such a pretty name, don't you think? One day I will grow a climbing Hydrangea. There is a house with a walled garden on the way to the river which has a magnificent one that twists and turns over the gate. I always linger when I take that path. The owners rarely dead head and so it retains its blooms in their final fragile brown, paper form long into the winter.
On a completely different note, I can report that the morning radio switch is paying off. Up and out of the flat by 8:05. Buying lunch in a deserted supermarket before 8:30 is oddly rewarding.