Raspberries

In the midst of all this lockdown gloom, I'm afraid I've become a pretty poor retirement role model - at least if you were hoping for the fulfillment of lifelong dreams.  Other people have been doing much better at that.  Of course it would help if one actually had a dream - alas, my dreams are mostly the stuff of vague anxiety or frustration, occasionally with an unexpected twist.  Last night's was about being unable to find the children's bicycle section in a department store designed like a malicious, multi-story IKEA, which included one-way tunnels full of overlapping doors so that you can't go back, which climb between floors whilst narrowing, ominously.  Hmmm... Perhaps I should see someone about that.

On the other hand, if your dream were to be, say, designing and building from scratch,  singlehanded, a semi-monocoque car that looks quite like a Ferrari Dino and does 200mph, I would recommend starting at the Jarvie Arete project .  Totally mind-bogglingly bonkers stuff.  There are quite a few episodes - I think about 63 so far - and there's still quite a lot left to do IMHO.  But if you like seeing other people doing things, it's very watchable.  And he certainly achieves a lot.

Back on planet earth, I've pretty much been reduced to the occasional crossword, drinking too much and watching the telly in the daytime.  I do have one tiny little project I can report on though - moving the raspberries; or, at least, preparing the raspberries' new home.

There is, in the mind of the lovely Jackie, a half-formed plan to build a garden shed, or summerhouse, or garden room, or studio, or something whose real purpose in life hasn't really been fully defined, in the area of garden once occupied by a vegetable garden, and which is now occupied by an assortment of rubbish, including bits of left-over garage roof (see Garage Roof Post Script) from our last house, and some pallets.   And the raspberries, which until recently lived in a narrow bed and were supported at height by a bodged-up pair of rotting wooden gibbets with a piece of hang-glider tube between them, together with a load of wires and some bamboo canes.  Altogether a bit rubbish, really.

A bit rubbish, really

So, to move the raspberries, and I made a new somewhat-raised bed for them out of bits of the old wooden retaining wall (removed for terrace-building, see Patio Exercises), and a new frame out of welded rebar.

welded rebar (inverted)

Here's what it looks like in situ:

convenient raspberry-picking access!

I know you're all dying to know what my rebar welding looks like, so here you go:

Good enough for garden work

Not the most beautiful ever, but adequate for the job in hand, I hope you'll agree.  

The amazing thing about unpainted welded rebar is how long it lasts in the garden.  It just rusts gently, and takes on a natural-looking garden-brown rust tinge, and sits there, apparently forever.  I made some tall obelisks for roses to grow on in our old house using the same technology.

Not that it's cheap, mind you.  That raspberry frame cost the better part of £100 in materials!  Obviously, it's been worth it, in the light of the impending thingy project.  No stone shall be left unturned, in the quest for whatever it turns out to be, eventually.

Speaking of the cost of things, I came across a picture of something we found in a garden centre during the Italian trip.  We stopped to buy some presents for the Italians we were visiting, and ventured outside to see if they had any interesting pots there.  Well - they did have some impressively large ones.  Like this:

impressively large ones...

...with spectacular features

But the really spectacular feature was the price, seen here in close up:

Yup, that's €731.00 each, or a bargain €1,462.00 for the pair!

For grandiose earthenware enthusiasts on a more modest budget, they did offer the same thing without the decorative garland of grapes, for a mere €561.00 each.  If only we could have fitted a couple into the van and driven them all the way home...

Flower pots aren't the only thing that comes in oversized doses in Italy.  Here's another one:

not melting

And finally, one which would fit into the van, and did come home with us:

Flagon of wine, anyone?

That's a 5 litre bottle of Montepulciano.  I think the price was about €13.  We'd already stocked up of wine to bring home, but it seemed churlish to ignore this fine offer.

 Isn't Italy great?