Well, not perhaps quite a thing of beauty yet. But my roof terrace can now quite reasonably be called a rooftop veg plot.
All the raised beds are in, many seeds have been planted, seedlings bedded and even a swanky new growhouse adorns the south chimneybrest.
All in all there are thirteen and a half, 600mm square sections, which I've roughly divided between legumes, brassica and salads. The growhouse will be planted with tomatoes and chilli, when the rain stops! Tubs are planted with herbs, a few flowers and early salad potatoes.
I'm out here every Day now, watching, primping and tweaking.
I'm not sure that we have attained anything like the beauty of a French Potager, which was my intention. In fact the take-away silver foil bird scarers which dangle and chatter above the cabbages, remind me more of a gypsy encampment that the parterre of a chateau in the Loire. Then again perhaps it's the wigwams I've erected to support runner beans and courgette that are reminiscent of a rather tacky campsite.
Why, in the mags, do we never see the reality? Has the gardener just folded away the horticultural fleece, packed up the plastic cloches and thrown away the butterfly netting?
I'm sorry folks, this 5 square meters of valuable production is just too precious. I'm not jeopardising my eight precious cabbages for anyone.
However I'm an optimist and I'm sure that later in the season, when the threat of frosts has completely passed, when the spring onions have grown big enough to put carrot root fly off the scent and when drought has starved the slugs into submission. Then perhaps once the high growing veg has climbed those wigwams, leaves will outshine protection.