Posted by Tania Kindersley.
When I was young, I moved about like a crazy thing. I was always getting into my car and driving to the West of Ireland or the South of France. I jumped on aeroplanes like they were buses; New York one moment, Venice the next. No one ever had to ask me twice.
Now, I feel like one of those creaking old persons who can rarely be tempted to leave the house. I have become famous for chucking and refusing, not because I do not yearn to see the old friends, but because I find the whole process of travelling amazingly enervating. Sarah rings up and makes jokes about my having to pack at least a month in advance, which is only a very slight exaggeration. I was never marvellous at travelling light (two Globetrotters were my standard minimum, even when riding the length of India on a train), but now I am practically into cabin trunk territory. You never know what the weather will do.
So I am slightly dreading my journey south. It is a good and true and necessary journey; I am not gadding about. All the same, the thought of leaving my dear old ladies makes me a little wistful:
They know I am going away because they have seen me trying on outfits, and they are being extra sweet and affectionate in a very effective attempt to make me feel like a heartless Dickensian villain.
My faithful hydrangea has finally started to flower:
Every year I forget to prune it, and it should have given up the ghost by now, but it forgives my neglect and rewards me with blatant beauty.
The roses and the lavender are in full fig:
And my newest little herb pot is coming along a treat:
The astrantia gives me daily joy:
It's only leaving the house. It's just a little bit of a drive. But sometimes I do wish I had a tardis, which could magically transport me through time and space.
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