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so that's why they're called...

Dusk today found me trying to haul out the last Forget-me-nots from the borders in the back garden. I've been getting a bit fed up of having to spend 1/2 hour afterwards picking the seeds off my fleece, and they give me a rash if I don't cover up, so this time I was stylishly attired in rubber gloves and sleeves wrapped in plastic bags strapped on with masking tape... nice. Note to self: next year pull them out before they set seed. The seed bank in the beds must be in hefty F-m-n credit by now. In early Spring I'm glad to see something growing and never thin out as I should, then I enjoy them briefly, as do the bees, before they fall victim to mildew which I guess happens particularly soon on poor sandy soils and in a dry year. Now there's noticeable gaps where they were, but I feel like the garden has some breathing space and I'm glad it's not cluttered up any longer with the straggly gone-over stems. It's quite satisfying hoiking out great bunches of the stuff, extracting it from the other plants so you can see a bit of shape again. Wonder if 100% F-m-n makes good compost? (I have long ago abandoned any idea of weed-seed-free compost).

And of course, while the plastic sleeves worked a treat, I still ended up having to pick the seeds off the rest of me. Fleece is aptly named - the seeds must be designed to catch in the likes of sheep fleece, and man-made fleece is almost as good. Just the front garden to go now...

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