This morning's morning glory. Ipomoea is its botanical name, derived from the Greek ips ipos meaning worm and homoios meaning like. It is a member of the convolvulus family and is closely associated with the bindweed (with its similar white trumpet-shaped flowers), dreaded by gardeners not only in Europe but in North America too. I grew the plants on which this specimen is now flowering from some seeds given to me in an empty tobacco packet with the usual health warnings still legible on it, by my friend Geoff. There are four of these lovely flowers this morning but all have by this afternoon shrivelled and faded. Beauty which does not last.
The very word hedge suggests restraint and discipline. Hedges are there to divide and separate. But because they are living things they also need keeping in order, pruning and shaping. I have managed the hedge which divides our narrow garden from the road for 25 years and think that I understand it. Not quite though. I realise today that it has a will of its own. The sloping top, pitched like a roof is partly my fault, but I never intended the angle to be so great, the apex so high. Nowadays even with extending sheers I cannot quite reach it (the electric hedge trimmer has now been abandoned). Today I begin to attack the top and bring it down to a manageable height, a satisfying task if, as I believe, it will make future trimming less of a challenge.
Last night we watched the Coen brothers film, The Big Lubowski. Apparently it was not a success when it was first shown in America. But it has since become a cult classic. And understandably so. Though it is not surprising that it was not appreciated at first. Its relationship with Raymond Chandler's novel The Big Sleep (and subsequent film of it) is not immediatley clear, but as soon as that dawns, its wit and intelligence begins to be apparent. I have now seen it twice and find its humour grows on me. I'm still laughing and enjoying in retropsect the ten-pin bowling scenes. I'm now ready to see it again.