Chelsea Flower Show 2019

I always cry at Chelsea. Of course, I pretend I’ve got something in my eye, or that the hay fever season has come a little early, but each year I shed a tear or two. Or three or four. I’ve already started and we haven’t even got to the awards yet; that’ll be the next time to reach for the hankie, bright and early at 7am tomorrow morning.

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February in the Garden

The garden has been both the bane and the medicine of my life this month. I had one of the most stressful weeks I can remember, although admittedly, it does sound a bit ridiculous writing it down. It was over a vegetable garden that I felt this immense stress. We’d asked someone to come in and build the garden for us, and he neither built what we asked for, nor would listen to anything I said and all in all was a thoroughly unpleasant man. When this happens in your garden, and you’re me, it feels a little as though your heart has been ripped out. And we are now left with a half-finished, totally off-brief and out of character vegetable garden, a lot less money in the bank and a whole host of decisions to be made. 

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A New Year…

I vividly remember, this time last year, walking over the little stone bridge across the stream in our new garden, upon our return from the Falklands. I remember just standing there, looking, and then my eyes welling up and a couple of tears rolling down my face. It seemed I had got over having to leave the penguins behind; these were tears of overwhelming, happy wonderment.

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