Skip to main content

Great Hairy Weeds

Well, Chelsea has come and gone. Thought it was rather nice, actually in a green-and-white fashion. I liked the show garden by Roger Platts, and the little Rhubarb Crumble and Custard Garden. Congratulations to Thrive for their well-deserved gold medal – and thanks for the smart green tea towel that came in the press pack.


Slebs spotted include Bill Bailey, Bernard Cribbins (who I always confuse with Bilbo Baggins as he read The Hobbit on Jackanory when I was little) and that Anita off Birds of a Feather who is always there. A bit short of rock stars for my personal taste, but Ringo just tends to tear around being rude to people so maybe it is no great loss. Although I was rather pleased to meet Brian May a couple of years ago.

Gardens. Celebrities. Schmoozing. Chelsea in a nutshell.

This is the time of year when it is all about multi-tasking. Weeding is something that has to be kept on top of, or civilisation as we know it crumbles. This is best done on the phone to ones mother or mother in law, I find. Two useful things at once. Sadly the phone reception only reaches half way down the garden...

Need to do a little something about the hot border. The perennials are filling out nicely, but it is more purple than hot. A scarlet geranium is making a brave stand and Geum ‘Mrs Bradshaw’ is coming out – but it looks vile next to an egregious allium (no idea what it is doing there, must have come in the same pack as some of the tulips). I will move it somewhere where it can be decorative and pretty, as indeed it is next to all the blue alkanet – which I swear I will chop back until I discover it is full of at least five varieties of happy bumblebee fossicking around, dusted in pollen and looking like all their Christmases have come at once.

Alkanet may not to be to everyone’s taste, indeed, it is rampant and hairy (even if you like that sort of thing) but following a letter about a school trip I feel inclined to encourage native species:

“The visit will be led by nature specialists at the centre and the children will be looking for and identifying common plants (weeds!) natural to the area...”.

I am slightly outraged on behalf of British flora in all its manifestations. Weeds indeed. Or, worse, ‘weeds!’. Ah, the bright derision of the school system.

I would like to be listening to music but I am too busy. However I have been invited to a party where I have been promised a bluegrass band and some latter day psychedelic rock. Promises to be interesting.

In print this month (June) in Kitchen Garden Magazine writing about scarecrows and in Berkshire and Buckinghamshire Life.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A Different View

Sharp angles and offset rhomboids: Heligan in Winter I woke up this morning convinced that it was late. The light was grey behind the curtains and the room was silent. Reluctantly, I looked at my phone and discovered that it was in fact early. It has been a busy few weeks, but walking up the road, the magnolia buds are suddenly swelling in furry promise, and lilacs pertly tipped with green;  Crocus tommasinianus have appeared where there were none. Acer griseum and white-barked birches stand bold, in full knowledge that their spare charms will soon be overwhelmed with spring. Time has passed while I was not looking. So as the season creeps forward - and faster it does, when ignored - I am looking back, with a kind of regret. The thing is, that although gardens are considered 'off peak' in winter, there is often no better time to see them. This is the point where they show their true colours and strengths. As a visitor, you can read their geometry and detail without

The Essential Apocalypse Skillset

Let me tell you a story. Several years ago, I was painting the bathroom of a house in Bristol. The window was open and it was a pleasant sort of day and people were wandering past. Around about four o’clock I heard a couple of sets of feet come down the hill and then stop. “Look, cherries!” said one voice (female, mid to late teens). “No, I don’t think they are. They can’t be.” Said the other, doubtfully (ditto). “Well, they look like cherries. Let’s try them!” “No, they are probably berries. Completely different. Some of them are not red, they are blackish. They are probably poisonous.” “Oh. Yes, I suppose so.” (disappointed) The feet moved on. I looked out of the bathroom window at the large and heavily laden cherry tree leaning over the wall of the garden opposite and wondered what the world was coming to. Red Sky in the Morning, Shepherds Warning ((c) N Slade) I am actually still wondering. When my grandfather was a child, he and his brothers (and a dog) ran

On The Road

Galanthus 'Fly Fishing' at Bellefield House . My latest snowdrop crush. Back in the dim and distant mists of time, when dinosaurs roamed the land and pterodactyls were frequent bird table visitors, I spent an enjoyable few years managing rock bands. There were headline gigs, support gigs. Mainstream venues and pubs. In some places the PA was state of the art, in others you thanked your stars for the decent size amp in the back of the van. Some nights the crowd was ecstatic. Others, the bar man, his dog and a couple of regulars would sit there, nodding and comparing the band to musicians that had died before the lead singer was born. Occasionally people listened to the first thirty seconds, got bored and went off to get drunk and find someone to sleep with. So it goes. I have just finished a modestly epic tour of the land, promoting The Plant Lover’s Guide to Snowdrops . And, as I pull myself vertical, brush off the debris and straighten out again, there are som