happy sad Gladiolus

Last night a gentle rain fell all night. And in the morning everything was soft and wet and fresh. And Gladiolus tristis, whose name of course means the sad Gladiolus, was positively radiating contentment. And although it's normally only scented in the evening, on this overcast morning it is strongly perfumed.
Despite how delicate it looks, this Cape lowlands geophyte is tough, and from a handful of bulbs I bought way back from Adriaan Hanekom at the Caledon Fynbos Nursery, I now have several overflowing pots full, have given more away, and still have plants popping up in any soil that ever hosted them.

the Cape rocks

and plants and other bits of nature. In the middle of London! Talking of the British Museum, they may have raped and pillaged half the globe during the empire years to populate the displays inside, but they get serious Brownie Points for making most of the South Africa display outside about my favourite floristic region.

Still on till the end of October, before they carry off those Aloes to the safety of heated glasshouses in Kew. Get there while you can. On second thoughts, I took those photos in July and it's already autumn there. Those flowers must be looking pretty sad by now. Just come here instead for the real thing.

what Sundays are supposed to be

On final deadline for huge project. But managed to do a real Sunday anyway. At least I did actually work all day yesterday...

Olympia Bakery pastries — not the best in the world, but the almond croissant and hazelnut danish with a not bad takeout coffee get an awful lot of mileage out of the setting.

(photos of me by Rosie):

Then  a brief foray into spring at Kirstenbosch - the glasshouse and gardens all bursting with flowers, but this Cyrtanthus only just about to open. Graham Duncan somehow manages to coax these shy princesses to show us their stuff.