WE took advantage of the rare sunny weather earlier this week to give the wisteria its biannual cut.
I say we because it is a joint venture. The Current Mrs Feeney climbs the stepladder and takes the secateurs and loppers to the plant. I hold the stepladder secure. This arrangement suits me fine, and allows Mrs F to get up close and personal with the wisteria.
She is the gardener in this relationship. I’m the bloke with a spade. I’m handy when it comes to digging holes to plant shrubs and bushes where Mrs F directs. I’m also handy at digging these shrubs and bushes up and digging new holes when Mrs F decides to rearrange everything (about every three months at the going rate).
Like all keen gardeners, Mrs F is on first-name terms with all of her plants. The wisteria, I discovered this week, is called The Bitch. And the individual tendrils, as they gracefully curl beneath the verandah roof tiles (or around Mrs F’s neck), are The Little Bastards.
Staying on the gardening theme, Mrs F has had a rethink regarding my parents’ garden. The plan to erect a fence, inside the hedge that runs behind the house, has been abandoned. Now we shall plant dozens of saplings to in-fill the hedge.
This is mixed news for me. Not having a fence will certainly reduce the battering on the retired bloke’s wallet.
But guess who’s going to be digging all of the holes…..