Something has happened in our garden over the past week or two. The rosemary has grown out of control.
It is supposed to stay quietly in its corner of the plot, but I have realised (too late!) it is taking over. There must be some cunning plan here. Unwieldy, straggly, with a top canopy that knows no boundaries, it has been pruned – hard – on past occasions but nothing will curb its irrepressible ambition which just keeps growing… and growing.
The rate it’s going at, I’m not sure where it will end up. Plants around it stand little chance: Nothing can stand up to it. Even the lemon tree, dignified and elegant, the result of years of careful cultivation and much shaping, may be in danger. So I have decided to call it Boris.
Of course, like all living things, this is a plant that starts off small…
… but if not kept firmly in check it can get so carried away that, like the unfortunates in “Alice in Wonderland”, it may be in danger of losing its head.
Personally I blame the early influences in its life: the soil must have been too rich. Perhaps the best tactic now is to deprive it of light (and I am tempted to say of oxygen too) and watch it diminish by some sort of natural process of atrophy. Dream on!