Oh, how I wish it would rain again! Everywhere is so dry and I have had to refill all four water butts from the hosepipe. It’s lovely to have fine weather of course – but a few nights of rain would be perfect.

As ever, things are a bit hit and miss. Parts of the lawn are lush (the advantage of cutting high) and parts are dreadful (the disadvantage of killing moss). The hostas are looking good . . . but wait until the slugs find them. The jasmine – so profuse last year – has not recovered (yet) from its brutal trim. Edibles are covered in fleece, chicken wire or tin foil scarers. The colourful spring burst has faded and I’m waiting for a second flush; meanwhile the peonies flop and the forget-me-nots run to seed. I’ve finally planted the Harlow Carr rose in the planter and now realise that everything else there would be better for being moved; the bare-rooted climbing rose (Bring Me Sunshine), planted a while ago, is imprisoned in an obelisk and will have to fight its way past the teazle and acer which have, unsurprisingly, put on growth more quickly than it has. I’m determined to keep the clematises in good order this year so go round regularly weaving in their tendrils, like tucking hair behind one’s ears. In good news, my fears that the new blueberry – without a companion this year – hadn’t been pollinated were unfounded.