The Helena Bonham Carter style of gardening

The young lady who lived here before me, bless her psychedelic heart (I bless her because it's more effective than wishing a pox on her) was fond of colours - the wilder and more mismatched the better, it seems. Some of you already know this from reading my Facebook page when I first moved in here. Eighteen different colours overall, nary an inch of neutral to be seen, and this month I was reminded that her singular tastes extended to the outdoors, as well.

I knew there were three species of something in the yard, but I'd forgotten what shades they are. Until a week ago, when they started blooming. So it was with resignation that I noted that of all colours she might have chosen to plant, she chose to emphasize the one you see here. The same purple that "adorns" the upstairs hallway.

You might say, Hey! These aren't so bad. In small numbers, mixed in with other hues, perhaps they wouldn't be. But I've got clumps and clumps of this, standing like... moldering blobs of flesh on stalks. Trust me, it's not attractive. The girl had NO EYE AT ALL.

It was only a few weeks ago, when the landlord was showing this place yet again to potential new renters, that he admitted the error of his ways. He said he should have forced her to restore everything she'd painted to its original white. I wish he had, and I wish I'd have felt in a position to push the issue. But, as usual, I was afraid to be assertive; I just wanted to sign the lease and take possession, paint scheme be damned.

Ah, well! In about two weeks it will all be water under the bridge. I will schlep my dozen gallons of powdery pastels to Laval, and hope that we're not in the middle of a heat wave so that I can make my new environment more to my liking. At least I will have built-in help (in the form of Alex) this time around.