It is, possibly, one of the laws of physics that you cannot have mass without void – although I am a person whose academic grasp on most of the scientific tenets is flimsy at best if based purely on examination results. Although I did once do a spectacular experiment with magnets which was put on public exhibition at parents day. I cannot remember the exact details.
The point I am faintly getting at is the void thing: in particular the existence and importance of holes in our lives. Black holes, 4000 holes in Blackburn Lancashire (or ‘Lancasheer’ if you a Liverpudlian), the 19th hole,Hole in the Sky (Black Sabbath), wormholes, mouse holes, Hole in my Shoe (Traffic), There’s a hole in my bucket (dear Lisa, dear Lisa), fire in the hole, Wookey hole, hole in the ozone layer, watering hole, rabbit hole, Harry Hole etc etc. I will not go on as there comes a point when there will no longer be a hole as I will have filled it with drivel.
This garden is currently full of holes (although that phrase, if you go back to physics, makes little sense. How can a mass, the garden, be full of voids, the holes?) because on saturday afternoon we had a very serious hailstorm.
Ice chips the size of pea shingle battered us for a good half hour and, as a result, any plants with a large leaf have been shot full of ragged holes and some very grand standard marguerites that I bought from the excellent people at Crocus were pummelled into broken stalks.
Neither of these things are a good thing as the leaves will not recover until next spring and the marguerites are unlikely to flower again this season. I am quite pleased that I have never been tempted to grow competition quality hostas otherwise I would have found myself alternating between tears and running around with an umbrella. The picture is of my poor Rodgersia.
To make it worse the hail was disgustingly dirty – each hailstone encased a flake of soot (or some other sort of atmospheric pollutant) which was left when the ice melted. I have no idea where it came from – London probably. Or France – if in doubt blame the French, it has served us well for hundreds of years so no point in stopping now.
So we are left with bruised plants and gritty filth everywhere. Especially as I forgot to close the windows. Weather, eh? what a swine.