Avid watchers of the recent Chelsea Flower Show will know that rock chick DJ Jo Whiley revealed herself as a keen gardener, and we all know that 80s heartthrob Kim Wilde likes to get her hands dirty. With that level of hipster endorsement I feel it’s probably safe to push the closet door ajar and admit that I like nothing better than getting up to my elbows in compost, and dabbling with my Dahlias. There’s really no shame in sleeping with a picture of Monty Don under your pillow and pretending that you only watch Gardener’s World so that Mrs Bungliemutt can go all soppy over Nigel the dog.
Seriously folks, it’s well therapeutic innit? It’s that primeval sense of creating something beautiful and alive, a green oasis of calm and order in a troubled world [you’re talking bollocks now – Admins]. We live close to the sea, so years of trial and error have taught us that there’s no point growing delicate blooms as they will invariably get blasted from the soil by unseasonable gales, but it’s amazing what you can do with a modest plot. I am a big admirer of the ‘garden rooms’ style of gardening best illustrated by the likes of Hidcote and Sissinghurst. When the evenings get longer and warmer I love nothing more than wandering around my garden at dusk and soaking it all in – a glass of something convivial often helps.
So, before this becomes the week’s least commented thread, does anyone else want to share their greenfingered enthusiasm? Remember folks, rock may be dead but hardy perennials come back every year.