Welcome! This is my garden.

Yesterday's party was sublime - oh, there's nothing like a bunch of old, old friends. Sandy Stagg was there, the amazing woman who was once owner of Peter Pan restaurant and one of the most successful vintage saleswomen of all time - including, she told us last night, a store on Portobello Road haunted by Ralph Lauren designers and others. Larry and Barry were there, but not Fred. Joanne, an actress I did a show in Toronto with in 1973, was there; then her hair was platinum and now her hair is rusty red. Dee and I were the only women who've gone grey; the men were all au natural but the other women had multi-coloured locks. The men may have been grey but at least they had HAIR.

We drank prosecco and sat in Suzette's beautiful garden and ate superb food and talked talked talked about past and present. Loved it.

This morning, to work in the garden. At noon, I grumbled, "I will never do this again!" But I said that the last time I volunteered my garden for the Cabbagetown Garden Tour - though that time really was a nightmare, a whole section of the garden was unfinished and required slave labour at the last minute to make it presentable. What makes me saddest, in that memory, is that my friend Greg called Saturday afternoon to say he had an extra ticket for Leonard Cohen that night, did I want to come? I was filthy and exhausted with a mountain more work; I had to say no.

But this time - a relative piece of cake. Though still, it has been considerable work to get the site ready for the 700 people they think may go through all the gardens tomorrow. Not to mention the "international garden bloggers" who are apparently coming too. A bit intimidating if I cared - but I do not. I'm not trying to impress anyone; I just hope they like my sweet green space as much as I do.

Here's Bill, who arrived this morning to cut the grass and help wash dirt off things.

And here's the name tag that was delivered for me to wear tomorrow.  I may never take it off.