Life in Culebrón

I quite like figs. Not that they are likely to replace plums or cherries in my affections but, from time to time, as something a bit diffe...

I have to admit that I was surprised they didn't give me more trouble about the hoe head in my bag. After all a jar of marmalade cause...

I don't really have much to tell you about gardening. The problem is that it's over a week since I blogged anything and, as I'...

We, no let's be honest, Maggie has just had the patio around our house extended. It looks good and it means less ground for me to keep...

Now I've told you about our palm tree  several times. When the tree man failed to turn up last time I did the beetle slaughteri...

Sitting in the garden, reading. There's a breeze, hair dryer warm. The air sort of crackles. Things crack and jump with the heat. The tr...

During the week our mate Geoff sent me a message asking if I knew why our grey plastic compost bin was melted and smouldering. He was in Cul...

I mentioned last week that I go for a haircut when the hair starts menacing my ears. It's much the same with the palm tree in our garden...

When I did the piece on gardening in Spain a couple of days ago I had a root around on the Internet for information about Spanish gardens ...

I may have told this story before. I used to live in Cambridgeshire where agriculture is big business. A farmer friend had a visitor from Ke...

It's the weekend so, of course, we've been gardening. I washed the car too. You see the excitement, the manifold differences, of liv...

Down on the coast, near Cartagena, I mentioned that there are gangs working the fields to crop cabbages and similar green winter produce. I...

When we first moved to the countryside Maggie was still working at Newton College and she asked the gardener there, a bloke called Bartolomé...