I’m not naturally an early riser. I’m more of a night owl, still awake at 2am with my head stuck in a book. But during the summer months, when it is properly hot and the terrace outside the kitchen is warm under foot at 7am, I am happy to leap out of bed at the weekend far earlier than I might do on a week day.
I had planned to pick some roses, but they looked so pretty peeping through the bronze fennel and the nepeta that grows around them, I found I was only prepared to pick the blowsiest flowers, the ones that are close to going over, and of course the minute I did most of the petals fell off.
Fortunately some of them made it and a bleary-eyed child has just wandered into the kitchen wanting to know the source of the lovely smell.
Sorry if some of these shots are a little dark – to get really good photographs of a garden you need to get up an awful lot earlier than my 6.50 start. More like 5am. Then the light is perfect and you don’t end up with heavy contrast or bleached-out flatness.