The most beautiful flower in the garden

It is raining gently as I write this, looking out over Susanna's labyrinth garden, so full of colour and variety of form. The sweet peas for which she is famous, grown this year up a half circle of canes around the famine pot, have not been picked for five days and are a riot of colour - I must pick them this morning, to keep them blooming. The tree-mallow which I cut down to the ground in the spring has bounced back and is now a blaze of shocking pink. The day-lilies she got from a specialist nursery in Britain are in full blow, varying in colour from lemon yellow, through orange, to salmon pink and a rich, deep red. And the flower-buds of the blue and whit agapanthus are just begining to burst.

But the most beautiful flower is not in her garden today - Susanna is in the Galway Clinic. She had hip-replacement surgery last Monday afternoon. It has gone well, thank God, the surgeon is pleased and she is cheerful. Although the wound is sore, she says the pain is much less than with her previous knee-replacements, and the pain she has been feeling in her knee has gone away, proving that it was referred from the hip, great relief to her. On Tuesday she was got out of bed to walk on a zimmer frame to the loo, yesterday she was able to swing her own leg out of the bed and sit in a chair and walk more, and today I think the physio will start her on crutches. Her main complaint is that they will not let her shower until Friday when they change the dressing!

In a little while I will drive back to Galway to be with her, and I shall be able to bring her a bunch of her own sweet peas and a punnet of her own strawberries, though I expect I shall be soaked if the rain doesn't stop!