‘Gardening’ is not the right term for the chopping and clearing which is going on at the moment.

I find myself apologising to the garden for doing this to it during a drought, but for the first time for years I can see the bones of plants and trees as the foliage shrivels and crisps. Taking advantage of the clarity, I’m wielding secateurs and long-handled pruning shears with determination – and hardly a backward glance.

Amongst the sad, overgrown, and gasping borders, there are memories and signs of encouragement.

My mother had green fingers and loved everything about her gardens. Growing up in Cornwall, there were hydrangeas everywhere. I’ve never managed to produce the vibrant blues we so often saw, but the traditional pink form reminds me of her

As do fuchsias – we had all kinds of fuchsias in pots and planted in the garden. I think this is probably Tom Thumb.

And for a flower which has always survived whatever has been thrown at it, in every home we have had, there is nothing more encouraging than the profusion of Japanese anemones.

Watering is helping the pot-bound. More to do for those with their dusty feet in the ground. Time to think about mulch….