a sort-of secret garden

This evening, Stuart and I went for a stroll up the hill to the Ranger’s House, where all the roses were blooming like mad. If you’re in Greenwich right now, don’t miss this part of the park that’s tucked away in the back.

This is like, the most slipshod photo collage ever, but extra points for spotting Vern and Lettuce:

Vern the sheep park keeper must love this place: not only is it perfectly organised with all the different rose types listed on a chart, but they have delicious sounding names such as Iceberg, Tequila Sunrise, Ice Cream, Bucks Fizz and Peach Blossom. Some of the names are just kind fo funny, like Just Joey, Heavenly Rosalind, Bonfire Night and Lady Mavis Pilkington.

My mother in America has an ongoing battle with the deer who have apparently given Michelin stars to her rose garden. She’s tried all sorts of things, such as spraying them with spicy Chinese soup and putting lion dung from the zoo around them. But nothing works for very long. My sister and I once tried getting behind them and pushing them out of the garden, but they just huffed a bit and carried on eating.

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