52and40/22 Uprising


Our wee extension’s starting soon and early signs say the plants are keen on change this summer too.

We’ve imposed new garden structure by getting rid of the decrepit shed, clearing the Krugeresque brambles and waving cheerio to 9m of mixed hedge which only ever managed to look tortured, despite optimistic pruning.


A winter project which leaked into spring was a new boundary fence.  With this came unexpected clarity about divvying up remaining space.  Digging awaits.

Clarity’s good in these mad Brexit times (as are friends with doors which make me smile).


Want more #52and40?  Click here, ye of great taste.

52and40/4 Goldilocks Desk


The season so far’s been kind in Edinburgh. Underfoot the ground’s mercifully dry and the sun seems brighter for longer than in recent years. 52and40-1



I’ve moved my desk to a window so I can soak up as much light as possible while I work. It’s made such a difference to feel connected with outdoors and in; from clouds, buses and birds on one side of the glass to the simple luxuries of late afternoon radiator warmth and lamp light inside.  At last, I’ve found a balance that’s just right for me.  Phew.



What’s #52and40 all about, Alfie? The answer’s here.

52and39/38 Let It Linger



Autumn’s my favourite. Colours, light and air are incredible and fashion wise I pull on a sweater and exist in a micro-climate within it, basically becoming a talking, typing, ball of wool with heavily mascara’d eyes til May.




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This year the garden’s giving the first proper feedback from getting more love.  I peer out windows or wander out – just to see if anything’s grown or changed.  It’s like meditation or gazing at your sleeping child – everything else fades away and only the tunnel visioned and detailed peaceful engagement is left.


Linking up this week with the stunning How Does Your Garden Grow series at Mammasaurus

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52and39/24 Don’t touch that dial




The dial’s changed to summer, with intermittent cross-broadcasting bouts of cold spring and wet autumn filtering in.  It’s still Scotland, after all.

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Wet pavements and foot-ways have changed from dark, splashy marl slabs or muddy, oozing foot puzzles to muted, boney hues.  Shoes come home clean and dry. Jackets sometimes stay on the hook.  Everything’s easier.

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Petaled, leafy performers in gardens come back every year to play the same show.  It’s as if they discuss wardrobe all winter, then reveal themselves; the same but different to the same but different audience.

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