I thought I had killed it.
The Montana clematis that I planted eleven years ago was pruned hard in the autumn, and up to only a week or so ago, I was convinced that this year it would not have crowned the homemade iron gate my brother in law forged for us when the garden was made.
I need not have worried for in a space of what seems like days, it has burst into life on the gate arch and has transformed the garden back into the secret bolt hole I always wanted it to be.
True, visitors now have to bend double to get through the gate, but I've always kind of liked that.
It makes the garden feel, well......cosy.
I'm writing this in the garden with George.
The other dogs and Albert are all in bed as it is still early.
George is waiting for the crusts and eggy bits left over from breakfast and he has just started to drool
This is his very individual daily treat .
I'm rather introspective today.
But That's not for here.