Hello

So, first post. Hi. It's late and it's dark and I haven't taken any recent photos so I'm afraid this one will be pure text. Bad blog etiquette I know, but I'll make up for it soon!

As I'll be mainly writing about my balcony, it makes sense to set the scene:

I live in an ex-council block, late sixties/seventies build. It's part of a 4 storey strip, red brick. We live on the 3rd floor, overlooking a couple of other blocks - thankfully not towering ones. Our balcony runs parallel to the living room and we have a lovely long floor to ceiling window between the two, with a door at one end. We're pretty lucky to have an outdoor area that's so visible and accessible. The balcony is about 18 x 7 feet,  has a 7 foot wall at either end, and the front-barrier (is that the right term? What do you call them?!) is waist high. When we moved here the walls around the balcony were red brick, but I've since painted them a creamy white. The floor is wooden planks. They could maybe do with a bit of power-spraying but I quite like the dirty darkness of them.

I've lived here for 4 years, and have gardened a little. I've had a fair bit out there: some climbers, a few herbs, small shrubs and trees, some flowers. All in pots. Some have lived, some have died, and some have struggled through a shadowy place between the two. Lots have, actually. I last paid the balcony some decent attention around the end of the summer. Autumn has since blown through, winter sent it to sleep, and now spring is wafting in and waking it up. The awakening has not been a Narnian one, I won't lie. On the face of it, things look bleak: browning, soggy plants collapsed all around, blown over pots, snapped branches. A melancholic scene indeed. In among this gloom though, rising from the ashes, there is a little life. Some old faithfuls are reanimating, and some more recent chancers are swimming back to the surface too. I've lost a few, but that's the way it goes. Nature can be brutal. And I, unfortunately, can be neglectful.

Back to the happy. There can't be many more satisfying tasks in a garden than stripping back the lifeless brown to reveal green shoots. You can practically see them start to breathe. Small and strong, pushing out into the light. There's not much else yet - the odd graceful unfurling, tiny buds peeking out, some new leaves.

I have high hopes though. And I have a plan.