Tuesday 1 August 2017


Plans are afoot to expose my rear access. Frankly, this was not part of my initial aspiration when I offered Farthing Hall as a venue for a pioneering village horticultural event. Yet the growing possibility of the local community scrutinizing my main entrance was simply too much to bear. I may be of some standing in the area and, as such, willing to host the Show (the first of an undoubtedly regular summer occasion), but I do not wish my private approach to be on public display.

            Hence the decision to steer visitors along one of the previously defunct tradesmen’s routes. This will not provide as stunning a vista as when perambulating the cedar lined drive, admittedly, though I trust an appropriate willingness to contain disappointment will be in order.

Of course, the refurbishment is in danger of bestowing undue burden upon my gardening contingent. I have therefore selected an additional workforce to offer assistance. Terms of temporary employment have been agreed. Once satisfactory references are within my safekeeping, the recruits will be under instruction to revive the entrance used by delivery boys of old. It has become remarkably unkempt of late and I refuse to stint on first impressions. After all, a fine floral display is paramount in order to reflect the quality of the inaugural event.

            Meanwhile, I have invited representatives from a nearby printing establishment to visit me at noon today in order to discuss the programme design. In point of fact, a draft schedule has already been compiled.  This includes one of my rather charming pencil sketches of the magnificent magnolia grandiflora which I frequently appreciate from the parterre. Admittedly, I did not invest much time on said illustration. My schedule simply precludes such luxuries. I hardly need add, however, that it reflects my usual artistic standard and will, therefore, make an excellent front cover.

            From mutterings below stairs, of which I became aware only this morning, I learn that a youth of a reporter from our regional newspaper has got wind of my project. That is all well and good, but I will not have a fledgling journalist exploiting either my premises or horticultural exhibition to further his career. I have assured the company’s Group Director, whose wife I fleetingly encountered at a recent sherry decanting workshop, that I will not only submit my own article covering the day’s activities, but will ensure it is delivered to the Editor. By hand, of course.