The temperature is rising, the bluebells are out! And like the instinct of an awakening hibernating beast, the brain is coming alive with illicit thoughts of cloudless skies and barmy evenings and how best to harness those precious summer months.
More and more I’m dreaming of hammocks and swing beds.
That primitive allure of quiet self-indulgence: Peace, tranquility, old soft cotton and a damn fine book.
If our garden was huuuuge I’d go for one of these…beds on top..potential den beneath…broken bones a given…but just think of the fun!
This is probably more realistic – and I like the pagoda style..a bit more secretive and tucked away. Maybe with a curtain to block out nosey neighbours…and with a back support – I hate reading completely flat. It would eat the space…but in a rather wonderful way. The truth is we have an urban life: Our garden will never be a football pitch…so why pretend?
Laters Kate x