A mid-August day at Ellesmere

It started with a half-hour on the cross trainer.

This was hard, as I'd done virtually no exercise for three weeks.

That done, I watered the potted plants and the veggies in the raised beds, a task I perform early in the morning before the heat of the day.

Breakfast was two croissants with home-made marmalade ... and two mugs of coffee.

Cliona went off to pick plums at our friends Herb and Carols' place. She came home two hours later with 20 kilos of Damsons. She'll use them to make plum membrillo and chutney, lots of chutney.

When she got home, we noticed more tell-tale dust on the floor under the antique sideboard. I applied copious quantities of wood-worm poison and opened all the doors and windows.

Back in the barn, I cleaned the grass from the underside of the ride-on mower as layers had built up over many weeks.

Then, it was off to the recycling bins down at Bazens ... with a big load of stuff that included a ton of bottles from a debauched family visit.

Grass grows quickly with this weather so it was time to mow the lawn around the pool.

After hitching the trailer to the car I drove over to Prayssas, just eight minutes down the D118, to see Laurent at his horse stables.

He helped me load the trailer with aged hay from a large pile in his paddock ... a perfect mulch rich in organic fertiliser.

This is pitch-fork work and it raised a sweat. Back home, I off-loaded the hay into one of my compost bays, made out of pallets. More sweat.

The Sir Charles Litton Memorial Pool is what I call the reward. Its surface shone brilliantly like teal-coloured glass. Water was cold, but sun was warm. Clouds were like whisps of smoke across a cerulean sky.

Swimming, sunbaking and reading under the parasol whiled away the time. Then it was back to the garden.

I had buried coriander seeds in two planter boxes filled with manure-rich soil. It was now time to gently remove the new seedlings and transfer them, with equal care, into compost-filled pots.

I had collected 50 or so seeds from a failed attempt to grow this fragrant herb in the stone garden. The plants had bolted almost immediately ... due to the early summer heat. Unlike the hardier parsley, which continues to flourish in tough conditions.

By now the angled rays of the sun were streaming in from the west.

This is the best part of the day, sitting with an ice-cold beer and a bowl of home-grown, home-cured olives, on my favourite garden bench, in the shade of the massive lime tree.

A breeze had sprung up and was sending helicopter seeds rotating earthward around me. The sound of the rustling branches reminded me of the beach, with the whoosh of retreating waves over sand.

It is satisfying work in the garden of Ellesmere, but the quiet contemplation of what has been achieved is even more enjoyable.