For instance, I often go to Cherie’s Place to see what delights she shows. My walkabouts are not all to Church or even down to the Crypt, but nonetheless I am a knackered old Knight and do not go far afield. Cherie does it for me.
Cherie's travels are well documented and I confess to knowing more about Belgian townscapes from her efforts to educate me than from my own experiences. Ancient English cities and country gardens too, as she often visits hoity-toity places on the ‘National Register’ and firmly in the English psyche.
|Very like the path into the Tavern.|
She has kept Taverners up to date on her neighbour’s oak tree which graces the corner of her garden and which has had a beard-trim lately. And she is keen that we see what she sees from her windows.
I do not dare show mine. The Tavern grounds are well tended but of course I do not live in the Tavern but in a small hermitage nearby.
I have an Aussie unit garden. It is small within the fence that separates my home from my own ‘grounds’. I have extensive grounds on my Tavern estate. It includes several large stands of gum trees, a large meadow area upon which I kindly permit the local villagers to play cricket and exercise their dogs, and even a special BBQ area with a well equipped playground for children. I like children. They are usually happy-sounding and not at all ‘pests’.
The Tavern patio, of course, you know about. The views from it are a marvel.
But pests are what Aussie gardens are all about and woe betide any ordinary chap who tries to build a ‘Cherie’ garden here without a small army of patient gardeners.
Ian Hills agrees and came by to sing about it. Had he a lot more hair on his head, he could pass for my bro.
Now I must go and take the air. That, at least, is fine. In fact Tasmanian air is the cleanest in the world. This is possibly because we are not constantly burning piles of leaves.