Wednesday, 9 June 2010

By any other name

Rikita

A wonderful season for roses so far. Here are a few of ours. I'm not good with their names and I've probably made at least one mistake.

Pierre de Ronsard


Pauline Prescott



Christopher Columbus




Botticelli

14 comments:

Dave said...

I've never been a great fan of roses. Experts make great fuss of pruning techniques, so I've tended to steer clear.

There are a couple here, which grow up a fence. Whether they are ramblers, and should be looking like that, or are just uncared-for, I know not. They've got lots of flowers on at the moment though.

I, Like The View said...

Pauline Prescott!!!!!

Dave said...

Big and blousy, I believe.

Christopher said...

Dave: We don't make a speciality of them - they just grow well here. Pruning's no big thing either: J. cuts them back fairly savagely in winter, I think on the sound principle that growth follows the knife.

Roses may perhaps raise an eyebrow at your first statement, especially today?

Jax: There is none like you, none. You stand alone.

I, Like The View said...

and I sit and sleep alone too. . .

. . .oh well!

(-:

Charlene said...

A rose by any other name is just as sweet.

Christopher said...

Jax: But this is so sad! Can't something be done?

Charlene: Very good to see you - thanks for dropping in!

I'm sure your gardens are full of roses, a source of seasonal delight to you and your cat.

Dave said...

I carefully used a minor letter for the word roses in my first sentence. Roses (with a capital) is a different kettle of fish.

Christopher said...

I know you did, Dave, and I'm sure she is. I can only think I learned to exploit grammatical loopholes, even where none existed, from élite bloggers like yourself and V.Scurra.

I, Like The View said...

oh, don't feel sorry for me!

I'm fine

alone, but not lonely

at least I can't blame anyone else for any "woes" I might have. . . (which, actually, are fewer in number now than they used to be - possibly because of my simple single life)

(-:

sometimes tho, I do wish I was blooming, big and blousey. . .

or that I had a rose named after me. . .

altho, thinking of that, I'd rather be a well established rambling climber, on a warm south facing wall, with masses of tightly closed buds, loads of really long stamens (anthers?) and masses of lolloping petals and a rather heady but seductive smell

hmmmmmmmm

perhaps I am lonely!

I, Like The View said...

(am I not an élite blogger?)(am I not even in the same leet as Vicus and Dave?)(it's ok, I know I'm not)(*sobs*)

Christopher said...

No, Jax, you're not in the same leet, long or short, as D and V. Rather are you crème de la crème. You're the topmost rose on the south wall, the one that catches the first rays of the golden morning sun and the last of the velvet evening. Your tumbling petals are the first to be pressed between the pages of finely tooled, exquisitely printed books of esoteric love lyrics. The carpets of petals at your foot are devotedly garnered by Nubian slaves and Circassian handmaidens for the pot-pourri delectation of your doe-eyed meynie.

*pauses for breath*

Need I say more?

Dave said...

Christopher's been drinking.

Christopher said...

No, no, Dave. As the young person said 'I've only had tee Martoonis and I'm not so drunk as thinkle peep I am.'