Hyde Hall.18.09.2021

A bright September day lured us to the flat Essex landscape. Gloria has been suffering from Voldemort's knee (it's back and it's not good) so we needed somewhere with good paths and helpful people.

There is something very satisying about grass in an English garden. It slopes but it can't be helped.

I particularly liked the use of this fluffy stuff under the trees. I would once have known what it was, but water passes under the bridge. It put me in mind of an old horsehair sofa I had. Spiteful thing, most uncomfortable. It would had been undiplomatic to dispose of it, an unwanted heirloom from someone else's family, so it lurked for years in the corner of a room to inconvenience the unwary.

The exotic border has become a feature of gardens lately. There is a thrill in the exotic, though I find people of that persuasion a little dull. All sprouts and no roast beef.

I love the house at Hyde Hall. With every year a new layer of 'antique' is applied. It was once a very practical building but it is developing an Alice-in-Wonderland quaintness to suit the setting. I almost expect to hear the sound of an ancient clacking typewriter drifting from the windows as a crime novelist hatches a dastardly plot.

Eventually Gloria ground to a halt and we took welcome refuge in the tea shop. The dry garden provides a perfect setting to relieve the parched and withering. We both welcomed the pedestrian luxury of a seat.

Hyde Hall is filled with glories, from the dry garden and the jewel encrusted colour borders to the winter border and the rose garden, but for me its greatest asset mwill always be this magnificent view into the sunny Essex countryside.