Long Mizzle Garden

 Hello m' fellow bridezilla's, I have news ... Monsieur & I got married! It was a small, quiet ceremony at an old Cornish mining site. We told only a handful of people, including our two lovely witnesses. I picked my outfit from my  wardrobe that morning - plum velvet dress and vintage embroidered Chinese jacket together with my sturdy leather work boots. The flowers I picked fresh from the garden- river lilies, snapdragon, lemon scented geranium, cerinth and trailing ivy.   I cried. Monsieur welled up a bit too.  We were back by tea time to collect the children and treat ourselves to a nice takeout (Indian cuisine & a cloudy cider for me, fish & chips with juice for them). Gardening duties have happily been on pause.  We've been treated to whole array of different types of rain:  drizzle, mizzle, spittle, danky-do-don't-go-to-town deluge, silver sleet sheets, splutter gutter downfalls, piss pop drops, neck floss splodge, flippity-freezing ...

 Hello m' berry pies, Sundays are for lie ins with tea and books, breakfast croissants, garden pottering, maybe a bit of painting. Here is the sound of a Sunday morning at Long Mizzle, courtesy of the local church bell ringers [video] - Picking flowers to dry - Helichrysum (above) and Statice (below).     From the greenhouse you can watch the lagging tomatoes slowly ripen.   This year's Braeburn apple harvest... thirty of 'em! Some destined for a pie.   If we are feeling adventurous... some blackberry picking, using an old wooden walking stick to hook and reach the high branches. The best ones are always out of reach! In old British folklore, we are told not to pick blackberries after Old Michaelmas Day (10th October), as the devil promptly pisses on them. I am pretty sure I have eaten pissed on berries in the past. It did not result in instant death, but it did simultaneously give me the squits AND make me a better guitarist. Saturday afternoons are for heavier...