Very cold today, but dry and beautiful sunshine. Yesterday in the Garden was like a winter wonderland, so crisp and clear, ice and a thin dusting snow on the lawns and beds.
The glasshouses were open, temperate, tropical, alpine and desert. The Desert House is always magnificent at this time of year, the cacti lush and flower-laden.
This sad empty space is where the summer house once stood, gradually becoming more dilapidated. When I first joined as a member, able to visit the Garden out of hours, I waged a war with some unknown foe over this summer house. I would come round about dusk and set out the gardening magazines in the magazine rack, clear the litter, set out the tables, closing the door carefully behind me.
Each time I came back, the magazines were in a dusty pile, the tables pushed back in the corner, the door left swinging open to the elements. Later, the educationalists set up a free library, a bookcase where you could take the books or leave your own.
That, too, would be tucked in the furthest corner, the books higgledy-piggledy, falling over, everything mixed up. I liked to tidy them, pull the bookcase to the middle of the wall where everyone could get to it. I'd arrange two or three larger ones on the shelf in the bay window, where they could be seen from outside.
The next time I came back both tables and bookcase were thrust in opposite corners like a couple married for fifty years who couldn't stand the sight of each other.
Ah well. I don't have to worry about that any more.
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