Hestia and Vita Sackville-West

This year I became dreadfully enamoured by Vita Sackville-West. And when I say 'enamoured' I mean enamoured enough to start using words like 'dreadfully'. And 'enamoured'. But not enough to take up smoking. Or go gay.

At some point reading hard-backs of her newsy, intimate gardening columns for The Observer (which she wrote weekly for 15 years) I thought 'I could totally do that too'.

This was, as any regular reader of this blog or friend of mine will tell you, a bold and dreadfully fool-hardy approach to take. And one destined for failure.

In a fit of gardening madness,  I bought bulbs.

Not garden-centre bulbs, but Vita-type bulbs. 'Because I'm worth it' type bulbs, purchased for many pounds via a marvellous online bulb suppliers called Farmer Gracy. I could totally plant bulbs, right? I mean - you just make a hole and put them in and they do it themselves. Even I can't get this wrong. Right? RIGHT?

The order duly arrived and I cannot rave highly enough about the quality of the bulbs when they came - well-coloured, plump and gleaming, they were in perfect condition and beautifully packaged and packed. I will definitely be buying from them again!

So far so good, but this is where the wheels come off, dear reader.

Tartarus 'tidied them away' to a cupboard.

And you know me. I live in a state of almost intervention-worthy squalor given half a chance. Basically, if I can't see something, have it in my line of sight, I forget all about it.

And so I forgot about the bulbs.  I'm not blaming him for me forgetting. Well, maybe I am. 

That was in September.

It's now mid December and they have been sitting in the darkness of a cupboard as well as weighing heavily on my mind. That Vita S-W has been following me around the house every day for at least a month, tapping me on the shins with her walking stick, blowing her louche cigarette smoke in my face and desperately trying to remind me that I HAVE BULBS TO PLANT.

This morning I could bear the waves of disappointment wafting from her stern dark gaze no longer and resolved to plant the bulbs.

Which I have just done.

Took about 20 minutes.

Although it IS now mid December. That can't be ideal or Monty would still be on my TV screen every Friday extolling me to do something gardening-y. Even he has hung up his trowel for the year. 

Once everything is tidied away (another minor Christmas miracle in itself) I google 'how late can I plant bulbs in Scotland?' and the google gods send back the following:

"The best time to plant spring flowering bulbs such as daffodils, crocus, hyacinths and alliums is later in September and October, once the ground cools."

Mid December Scottish ground is decidedly cool, so that should be ok, right? I mean, we HAVE had frost, but not today. And the pot IS very close to the house...

'You really are quite a useless gardener,' harrumphs Vita, poking around in the newly planted-up container with her well-calloused fingers.

'Girl, you're not telling me anything that I didn't already know,' I breezily reassure her.