So, no way I compare anything to a Summers' day! But I promised to tell you how you turn a bed base into a japanese temple, so let's just ignore the weather and head into the... erm... garden, shall we?
Our new abode has a tiny front yard, covered in concrete slabs and nothing really worth looking at. A huge pile of discarded kitchen unit debris and assorted other junk turned into an eyesore, something that made me want to buy really dark velvet curtains to make sure I can't possibly see any of it EVER.
As I told you, I was pretty much drowning in what I can only describe as depression ever since we moved in, and that particular little piece of paradise didn't exactly help raise my spirits. If anything, it made me raise spirits and neck them one after the other. Burp.
Enter the british summer. About two weeks ago, the sun decided to stick around for a bit, instantly making everything look less of a nightmare and a little bit more of a do- able "let's get rid of it!" challenge.
Most of the kitchen unit debris left over from hat I assume was some sort of refit years ago (why would the landlord bother getting a skip when there is a perfectly good front yard available? No, I don't know, either) consisted of decaying bits of plywood, rotting panels and bits of wood with nails sticking out of it. Lovely.
But there was one treasure. A complete, intact, not even a little bit decayed unit about 60 cm square- must have been some sort of wall cabinet in a previous life. The door obviously gone, but otherwise a perfect container.
Container?
Container gardening?
Oh hell yeah, man!
When I came out of that black hole of depression, my first actual proof of life was to grab that unit, fill it half way with debris and junk, then top it up with loads of compost and plant pansies in it. There, instant container gardening. I felt so artsy, crafty, clever and happy! It actually worked a treat, but still looked like a piece of junk with pansies in it.
The Man was sweet about it. Really, really sweet. He said he loved it, and I know he did- he loved the proof of life it was. But it looked like sh.. and we both knew it.
So he got crafty. And if you have been reading this blog for a while, you might know that when that dude gets crafty, the world is in for a big oooooooooooooooooooooh moment!
He rehomed the pansies in something I will have to dedicate a new post to. Honestly, it's so cool it'll make a freezer look like a finnish sauna. (Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm... sauna... *best Homer Simpson voice*) Anyway, with my darling pansies gone this is what happened:
Three of them rib thingies of an IKEA Sultan something or another bed base, cheap spray paint, a few screws and two charity shop tealight lanterns. Oh, and some cheap Morrisons garden lilies, red and yellow in case they decide to bloom. Ka- zamm, a third of the front yard junk and debris gone. (most of it is inside the planter, under the soil. Should help drainage, at least that's the plan.)
Does it look like a japanese temple or what?
To the left, you can see my little macrame and plastic bottle plant hanger- let me know if you'd like to make you own, it's so easy you'll be laughing all the way through the (short) making of it.
I love, love, love this planter, it actually looks quite classy, and when the candles are lit it'll make you go "whoa... WHOA!" The cost for this was, altogether, about £9. 4 quid for the compost, 3 quid for the plants (on offer, bless them) and 2 quid for the cheapskate spray paint. So, if you have junk, compost and plants on hand, you get off for zero quid. Having a crazysexyclever Man on hand obviously helps, as I would have NEVER dreamed this up myself. Ever.
So, what have we learned today?
Trash to treasure, junk to jungle, scrap to fab.
And if you think this is kinda cool, wait until I show you what you can do with a book case. I'll wager a quid you would not have thought of it yourself, because I haven't ;)
That is charming and yes, very temple chic! Hooray for hiding junk, hooray for transforming junk! I love that you buried some of it. Can't wait to see the bookcase.
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