Last night as I slept (probably, full details of timings etc are yet to emerge) a hideous crime was perpetrated. Somebody crept into our garden and nicked a lupin.
I didn’t notice initially, as I went to feed the hens this morning. Then on my way back I glanced over to my flower bed (the only flower bed that I have managed to salvage from the combined attentions of the hens/dogs/cat) and there was a bit missing. Where there used to be a tasteful mass of blue/purple/pink/white flowers linked by rampant bindweed (also pink, white and very harmonious) there was now a large hole in the very middle.
At first I thought it had been Scarab getting a bit overenthusiastic in his love-affair with the rampant catmint that I welcome because it is purple and within my colour swatch. But it wasn’t. And nor was it the dogs, digging a careful hole in which to hide a treasure (step forward Darcy, and a dead mouse he was deeply attached to). And nor was it the hens, creating an extra special dustbath.
As you can see from the list of suspects, my flower bed has an uphill struggle to survive as it is, without the additional attentions of a genuine human lupin thief.
When I got beyond my dismay at the trampled path into the middle of the bed, and realised that a large crater had been purposefully dug to get out the roots, I raced back indoors and consulted some photos I took after a passer-by said that my flowers were looking ‘very pretty’, the nicest thing anybody had ever said about the garden. ‘Characterful’, and ‘fun’, I’ve had, but ‘very pretty’ was a first. So I had recent photographic evidence that the bit that was missing was a large lupin. Pink, it was, and burgeoning.
I contemplated ringing the police, but the ensuing conversation could have been a bit feeble: “I have to report the theft of a lupin.” “A wot?” “A lupin.” “Sorry to hear that, can you give me a description?” “Well, it’s a lupin. And it’s pink …”
Nah, I rang the Neighbourhood Watch coordinator to tell him of the Terror that is Stalking our Streets, and I’m afraid to say that he giggled and asked me for an Identikit of the missing plant. But I’m taking it seriously. Somebody came into the garden, trampled into the middle of my only decent flowerbed, and collared a pink lupin. So now my family, the dogs, cat (very fierce when roused) and chickens are on full alert. Let him visit again, after a delphinium or similar, and we are armed and ready for him. Or of course her. I’ll be looking carefully at Audrey’s garden, for instance, next time I ride past it …