As a child there was one smell of summer that I dreaded.  It was bound to set off my hay-fever, and although I’ve grown out of that now, my feeling of dread has not lessened.  I hate the smell.

In the UK it was once the tradition to mark the boundary of your suburban property with a hedge.  These were usually kept neatly trimmed, square and ‘proper’.  Occasionally, though, these sharply edged perimeters would become ragged, and, horror of horrors, produce ‘flowers’.  Hedges are not quite so prominent now, but they are beginning to come back into fashion.  Sadly, I have noted one over the fence…..  I’m not bothered about the fact that it is untidy, it’s the fact that it is in flower that scares me.  If I hear the shears I’ll be closing all windows and doors, and hiding in a cupboard for a day or so (well, maybe that’s just a little bit of an exaggeration).  The culprit?

Privet!