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So where is Summer – I wanted ’76. Without the flares

I have bleated on in previous blogs about the fact I am now retired. Early retired let me remind you. So I was looking forward to my first summer of retirement with hopes of a summer of ’76.  Hot. Sunny. So I could chill out in the garden. Garden. Have afternoon teas. Drive  to the coast for lunch at a favourite cafe. Sit and read a book  by the river. – stream really but river sounds more romantic. Which I’m not. 

Summer of ’76

 What have I had so far? Well the word chill sums it up. Chilly days. Chilly nights.  So chilly fat Harry the cat has taken to sleeping in the chimenea. Like me he’d prefer some sun. Sadly I’m unable to join him.

We have had Quick glimpses of sun and a dry day here or there to at least cut the grass.The garden is green but needs more colour. What colour there is looks great. But like everything. I want more. And I want it now. Like a plant. I want the perfect shape. ( so do I ) Repeat flowering. Disease resistant. Low maintainence . Exquisite scent. Everything. Now. Unrealistic. Probably. 

The roses this year are stunning. Those that haven’t gone mildew or rotted on the bush that is. The few days of a little sun this week has meant there have been some great blooms. We were moving a main bed to accommodate a new extension. Which hasn’t happened  so  – I hadn’t pruned them. Too late for the extension. To late to prune. So the branches are long. With stunning  floppy blooms heavy with petals heavy with scent. Sadly black fly is an issue too this year. 

The dahlias are way behind where the were last year. Great dahlias from the lovely Karen at Peter Nyssen 

Facebook is a great reminder where we are now against last year. The year before and earlier. It posts memories whether we want to be reminded. Or not. Last year at this  point the  dahlias  were glorious. As I leave  the garden to head up to London for two days there are  three flower  heads. But loads of buds. The Bishops seem to be strong this year.  I did leave them in the ground though – the tubers. Not your actual bishops so Im lucky they came through at all. 

Don’t even  mention the S word. Two destroyers. Both start and end in S. Also know as little s:::s –  same number of letters. Starting and finishing in S. Particularly when I find a favourite plant devoured over night. So I’m to be seen torch in hand on S watch at night. And morning. 

My alliums were brilliant last year. This year. Short. Stumpy. Bit  like me. Big flowers where they flowered but were few and far between. 

The good bits?  Other than the glorious roses on long straggly stems. 

Runner beans at the top of the canes already. Plenty of flowers. Well one set anyway. The other is barely out of the starting blocks. At least the glut will be staggered. 


The tomatoes cucumbers and courgettes are doing great guns. But it’s early days. Let’s see the crops. Probably all will

Come at once when I take a two week holiday. Like the beans. 

So far plenty of currants. Red and black. Slowly. Ever so slowly ripening. Gooseberries getting plumper –  the red ones won’t last. Not the birds but me. I can’t resist them. Sweet as honey. But Mr Blackbird is hovering too. Next year a fruit cage. 

The Astrantia are blooming lovely again this year and are great as a picked flower. Encouraged by a  Georgie Newberry workshop I have been picking what I can.

Daily posy 

Astrantia 


The clematis are patchy.some have flowers like dinner plates. Others like expresso saucers. Tiny. Little  blooms that open and get blown away with the wind. 

Honeysuckle Arch 

The honeysuckle arch – a Graham Thomas – has had plentiful flowers. But I miss the end of the day scent following the summer heat of the day. It’s been colourful but somehow the scent has been low. I miss the heady smells of the honeysuckle the neighbours Philadelphus Belle Etoule with the lovely dark centre. On my list for the rearranged borders next year. But the roses which have a delicious scent have been fantastic in petal and scent when not ravaged by the rain. 

In London the agapanthus are simply stunning. Big fat white ones bought at Columbia road Market for less than a tenner. Tree ferns with slowly unfurling fronds. Very different to our Somerset garden. London is a courtyard and small front garden. 


The river at the back of the cottage looked lovely early this morning. I disturbed the Heron – unintentionally and saw him/her take flight over a neighbours bridge. Thankfully I had my phone to catch the pic 

Heron in flight 

River Pitt 

Well. It’s only the first week of July. Things will get better. Honest.  I’ve got my fingers crossed. But I’m afraid that if I blink I’ll miss it. I heard a presenter on the radio say we are going to have our hottest warmest weekend. For a month. For a month!! It’s July for Petes sake. Wimbledon is in its second week. It’s strawberries and cream and sun and burnt foreheads. Cliff singing in the stands.  Best weekend for a month. Oh. And it might rain Saturday night. 

Did I say I’m retired. Well. It also means I have time to use what little produce I have in the garden. Or Produce that gets left on my doorstep. Rhubarb that obviously someone had either been given and didn’t want or they had had enough crumble and tart to last the season. So I’ve been making cordials. Elderflower. Elderflower & rose. Blackcurrant and lemon grass. Rhubarb. I’ve left some strawberry seeping I’m the fridge. Apparently it takes 4 days. So. There will be cordial with water. In prosecco. In gin . There are gooseberries and more black currants to come.  Some black elderflower in the freezer for when I run out. 

Strawberry cordial in the making 


Bottled and ready to go 

So. Fingers crossed the sun will come out. Tommorow. Bet your bottom dollar…… Which is worth less now than when summer started. That’s a whole other story……….


Summer of ’16 -(Italy!) 

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In out shake it all about. 

Having secured my postal vote, on Thursday morning at the crack of dawn I shall be leaving on a jet plane  to Florence for a short  trip to Tuscany. On Monday evening  I fly back. 

To what may  be a very different UK. 

Maybe the last time I walk through ‘arrived from the EU gate’ & from showing my passport with other EU member countrymen as I depart  or enter a member EU country.  Next time it may be the ‘green nothing to declare channel’ and queueing with the other non EU nationals. Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe not next time. But maybe. 

Whatever the outcome there will be change. Recriminations. Accusations. Unpleasantness. U turns. Negotiations. Will it be for the better. Time will only tell. Whatever way it goes. In. Or out. 

As I reflect on what this means to me I am worried. Worried  for what the result will be. And that’s worried  for either decision. Worried for what the campaign has done. Divisive. Bitter campaigns pitting at times irrelevant things against Irrelevant issues. Scaremongering. None of it nice. None of it pleasant. 

There have been more  u turns than a sat nav.’  Please do a u turn where possible’ is the mantra of some.  Personal political agendas. The fight to be leaders at whatever cost. Faults on all sides. The ins and the outs. 

What is had and has the ability to  do is  shake it all about.  What we may be doing for some time is the hokey kokey. Is that what it’s all about?

I sat with friends on Sunday where the conversation became heated between 3 generations of one family. The grandfather an un changeable out. At any cost. Grandmother an in. The daughter and son in law an in.  Interestingly the 12 year old grandson – our future – having debated it at school – was an in. Having previously been an out. In. Out. 

I am fortunate. I own my own home. I have a mortgage. I have a pension. For now anyway- but severely depleted after years of my contributing to it. I am not looking at nostalgia through rose tinted glasses to the good old days. But through reality. I have battled through negative equity. Been around for the 3 day week and the power cuts. Been hard pushed to pay my mortgage when interest rates doubled  to 15%. 

My younger staff used to look at me in disbelief as I told them. Never they said.  Interest rates could never have doubled.  Yes. They can. And they did . What we have now is a mere fraction of the interest rates of the 1980s and early 90s.  What’s negative equity?  Don’t get me started on negative equity I said. 

I have watched family, Friends , colleagues  Be cared for in hospitals. In nursing homes. Losing out to Cancer. To leukaemia. To AIDS. To dementia and Alzheimer’s. Places staffed by wonderful people who may or may not have been born in the UK. But whose compassion and skills,  irrespective of where they came from , who they slept with or their religion, were perfect for those being cared for. Bottom wiping transcends all of these things. 

I have seen progress in equal rights. Womems rights. LGBT rights . I am now allowed to call my partner of 25 years my husband. And it’s progress.some people disagree. They don’t like it.  I don’t like marmite  or tinned spaghetti  or hunting and I don’t approve of people who wear socks with sandals but I won’t discriminate against you if you do. 

Tolerance. Understanding that we are all different. Different nationalities.  Race. Gender. Sexuality. Likes. Dislikes. But deep down we are all one thing. People. With feelings and passions.

20 years ago an old boss of mine asked his elderly mother what was different now. As in Different to when she was younger. Her comment has stuck with me. The expectation she said.  People expect more. When I was a young girl getting married. We didn’t expect to have all of the material things people ‘expect’ today. Not Straight away. We waited for the washing machine. The dishwasher. My dishwasher was my husband. ( her not me) The big tv. In every room.  I think that rings true still.  We want it all. And we want it now. And when we have it we throw it away and get new- When we could have and should have maybe just repaired what we have. Not discarding it and starting afresh. Re inventing the wheel. Not learning any lessons from the past.

So I go away with a heavy heart. ( but I will enjoy the wine. The food. The sun) Worried at what the result will be. Worried about how we and the rest of world  deal with  the result. Whatever that result will be.  And how we must continue to have patience. Tolerance. Understanding. But most of all respect. Respect for other people’s opinions. 

Respect for each other.

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Workshops & Retirement. A day at Common Farm Flowers 

One of the joys of retirement is that I have time to do what I want. Some say I always did.  Time to potter in my garden time with the godkids but also time to go off and do those workshops and courses that I have always wanted to do. But never had the time. Or sometimes the confidence. Ian I think,wanted to make sure I didn’t sit at home all day. Vegetating. Watching Jeremy Kyle. Eating junk food. So he bought me  spaces on workshops. First a cookery workshop. In Ireland.  Then gardening.   Not any old workshops for the flowery ones. But Common Farm Flowers workshops. 

I can’t deny that I am a fan of Georgie Newberry as most people know. I purchase her bouquets. A lot. For me. For presents. I buy her books. I go to her talks. So more a stalker than a fan I guess.  But she is also a good friend and a neighbour ( well a mile or so away) – that’s close enough to call her a neighbour isn’t it?  Though that didn’t stop her telling me off (in the nicest way of course ) when my stripping wasn’t up to scratch!! The stems. Not yr actually stripping. Not now. Not ever. Not even 3 stone ago or the half Monty. 

So. Yesterday was the last of the three that Ian bought for me to keep me occupied in the first phase of my retirement. But first there was a girls night out with some great friends to be had and a talky catch up. Id say. They talked. I listened. 

Steak Night before the course 

 I had done the Chrostmas workshop. The wreath proudly put on our door for the festive season. I had made a table decoration which we used and I made another for our lunch visit to friends on Christams  day. 

Wreath from my Christmas workshop 

Course two was grow your own cut flower patch. Informative. Friendly and bloody good fun. I’ve struggled to get the patch up and running this year but that’s down to builder/no builder on our new extension. Not me. Not the course. . But I have grown my own sweet peas for London and so far they are  doing well. That’s a first as I have always struggled with sweet peas. Not physically. But I could never get them a suitable height before the slugs and the snails beat me. 

Yesterday was Floristry and posy tying. Yes. Posy  tying. Who would have thought that 6 months ago I was pushing a pen around a bit of paper. Looking at numbers. Endless tax returns. Daily commute. Health & safety. Today  I would be looking at how to do the perfect hand tied flower arrangement. Go cutting in the common farm cut flower patches. Gaze adoringly at the simply stunning wildflower meadow that they have created. The one place on the farm that there is a stay on the path sign. So we did. 

Wildflower meadow at Common Farm 

There are a number of constants with these workshops. Georgie – of course –  who  as those who know her know – boy can  she talk.. But it’s a pleasure. I didn’t fall asleep once. Unlike my past life. Talking plants. Rather than talking pants. 

Informative. Helpful and what every workshop course should be. Fun.  The quality. The lunch. Ohh. And the apricot & Amaretti biscuits. I can’t forget those. So good I searched the World Wide Web to find a recipe. Which I did. 

The day starts with introductions. I used to hate these in my past life. Talking about yourself and what you wanted out of the day used to fill me with dread. I wanted to retire. I couldn’t say that out loud. Well not until last year anyway. 

15 of us. Happy to say who we were and where we came from. A bit blind date with flowers.  “Hello my names Andrew and I’m from Pitcombe”  It’s interesting to see what other people want  to get out of the day. Some to be able to make and sell posies. Others to be able to create better arrangements for the church.  Daughters there with their mothers for the experience. Some whose weddings Georgie has ‘done’ the flowers. All ages. One man. Me.  Though I was sat next to a dear friend Sara and yes we giggled at times like we would have at school if we had sat next to each other then. 

Everyone was  eager to learn and absorb the information given by someone who has made all of it look easy.  It is. And it isn’t. 
Instruction in the poly tunnel  – go cut 

After the introductions and instructions it was a short walk to the poly tunnel. I love that poly tunnel. Armed with advice on when to cut. How to cut. Always cut and plunge the flowers straight into your bucket of water. The right shape of bucket. Clean water armed with scissors. Not secateurs. 

The poly tunnel is a delight. Sweet peas. Cornflower. Calendula of the most gorgeous orangey red. Ammi. To name a few. Instructed to pick. We did. Not  getting too over enthusiastic as there was plenty outside to pick. Like  a child in a sweet shop.  But flowers. Not sweets Colours. Smells. Laughter. 


Picking in the gardens at Common Farm 

The beds outside were filled with allium. Purple. White. . Glorious clary sage. Californian poppy. A sweet creamy colour and bright orange. Foxgloves. Sweet rocket. Sweet Williiams.  Smelling.  Well sweet. 

I didn’t giggle or guffaw either when someone said ‘ who wouldn’t want Nigella in the bed’. Honest. As I know they meant what my mother called Love in the mist. Beautiful   Floaty-blue or white. 

Encouraged to pick buttercups. Pineapple mint with its variegated foliage. Rosemary,Grasses. Things you would never think of putting in a posy or bouquet. Or a jam jar posy. Or a buttonhole. Unless of course you have already ordered from Georgie and been surprised. 

 The options for the flowers and what you can do were never ending. Armed with our buckets, with  Georgie and  Lorraine  – who was helping  at the studio we headed back for lunch. With a trolley full of buckets – right size. Right shape. Clean water. Flowers cleanly cut.  Of course. But now full to the brim  with gorgeous cut flowers. 

Georgie & Lorraine with the trolley 

Enticed indoors  for an  excellentlinch of   local produce from At the Chapel and cheeses from Kimbers with the best salad leaves around -Charles  Dowding – we sat surrounded by buckets of flowers ready to be created into some glorious bouquet. Yea right a few of us thought. I know that Sara and I were right up there with that.   

As Lorraine says – stand On a stool 

Flowers picked for the bouquets 

After another Georgie presentation, where of course she made it look easy  – this is a woman who cuts thousands of flowers a week to go into extraordinary arrangements – we wer told  – hold your hand this way. Looosely. 45 degree angle. Quarter twist. Build up your bouquet. Of course it will look pants when you only have 5 stems in it – you need 25 -30. 

Filled with instruction & a full stomach we all set about making our own arrangements. 15 people and -15 very different posies/ bouquets at the end of it. Calls of help filled the room. ‘Georgie’ ‘Lorraine’ were shouted when we got into difficulty. And we did. Finally all  lined up along with the jam jar posies we were finished and the workshop over. 

Did I enjoy it? Enormously. A fun day out. Not just the making the bouquets. The jam jar posies. But the encouragement of what to pick how to pick., how to condition.  – Georgies  answer “anything and everything. Unless it’s poisonous! 


It Was great to meet new people. Some local. Some from as far afield as York. All leaving the workshop happy. Confident.  Armed with a bouquet/posy and a jam jar posy and a head full of ideas to go picking in our own gardens.  

One I made earlier 

Common farm flowers runs Workshops  throughout the year and I’d be there like a shot again next week! But next on my list is a day course at Billingsgate .  

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Gardening. Woolies and me. 

I love my garden. The plants. The butterflies. The smells. The colours.  The bees. Not the wasps or the snails -or slugs.

I was asked recently where my interest started. There’s no doubt at all. My parents.

They loved their garden. Took enormous pride in the front borders. Like me a bit of a show off. The back garden was nice. But the colour and the effort went into the front – that’s what people saw and there was always a bit of a competition with Den & Blem next door. Neighbours for over 50 years,  each year they planted the borders to out do each other. Never mentioned. Never admitted. But always there.

Clearing out Dads things we came across some photos from the 80’s and 90’s of the garden. In the 70 s the garden beds along the front path were filled with roses. Beautiful.Tea roses. floribunda roses.  Healthy and colourful. I recall names like Superstar. Iceberg. Ena Harkness. Vermillion red. White. The roses were their pride and joy. Majority  bought in Woolworths in Cardiff.

In the early days there were no large garden centres or the dismal area in a B & Q where there always seems to be a drought. In those days Woolworths had an excellent gardening department. Row after row of seeds. Gardening utensils. Plants.

Disease came to the roses and they were taken out never to return. The same fate for Woolworth in later years.  Gone. But not forgotten.  There is an interesting history of gardening and Woolworth

Woolworths horticulture
So instead of roses Dad grew his own bedding plants. I had begged for a greenhouse to grow tomatoes and cucumbers. He relented and for a few years until I moved out I tended them religiously. He never allowed me to forget that he bought the greenhouse for me to  use but within a space of a few short years I had moved out. As you do. Leaving him with a greenhouse he hadn’t wanted.

He failed to mention the bedding plants. The fact that without ‘my’ greenhouse he would have had to buy the plants. Still in competition  with next door he returned to growing plants from seed. But didn’t admit  that he was enjoying it. The sowing. The endless pricking out. The planting. Him and mum up to their necks in seed trays. But he did. She did. Especially when passing neighbours and friends complemented them on their ‘display’

The beds now became full of annuals. Grown by dad. Encouraged by mum. The awful smelling tagetes. Petunia. Busy Lizzie.  Lobelia. Alyssum. The staples of the 70s and 80s. But they were colourful, bountiful and easy. Hanging baskets aside the door like sentries on guard duty.

We came across these photos when we were sifting  through dad’s  possessions A poignant  reminder of those days. Now the house has been sold and Mum amd Dad both gone.


At the back of the house was the greenhouse. Bedding plants in spring. Tomatoes and cucumbers later. My job each year was to dig the bean trench. Always in the same place. Always the same length.  Only beans. Never peas. Always ached  liked hell the day after. . Now I don’t bother to dig a trench  but every time I plant those beans I get a voice in my head. ‘You’d do better with a trench son’ . Thanks dad but I’m doing ok without! Maybe next year.

So the simple answer to a simple question  is:- my parents.

With dad on the front  door step

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 Weekend of weeding here I come 

I’m lucky to be able to garden in two different gardens. A small Lcndon garden full of pots – tree ferns in large brightly coloured pots. Agapanthus. Lavender. Herb troughs. Pots & Pots & snails. Not slugs in London. Snails with a prolific breeding programme. Hundreds of the little b—-s.

 A patio/ courtyard that is unstructured , chaotic but at the moment green & waiting for  colour to burst. Overlooked and in the shadow of houses that are back to back. 14 years in & I am still making mistakes in thinking I can grow everything. There have been disasters. 

Somerset is very different. A cottage garden  with a hint of chaotic planting. No scheme. No colour beds. Just plants. I constantly buy plants. Ian says I never plant them. I do. Eventually  I admit and not in the places I anticipated. 

Peter Nyssen tulips

This year will be different. I have retired (early) – I have to keep saying that bit! So I will have more time to garden myself.  I’m not a gardener nor a horticulturist. I garden. There’s a big difference! 

I have also lost the help I had but the hard work they did has left a great  basis to continue. But weeds. We are blighted with weeds. I haven’t been there for two weeks. I know I will be up to my knees in ground elder.  It’s a shame ground elder isn’t a main crop as I could make my fortune. 

By Monday I will ache in places I didn’t know existed. 

a box of magic
I’m excited to have had a delivery from one of my favourite  suppliers  Peter Nyssen  Which I need to plant this weekend. Or  put in pots. In the greenhouse – the one with minimal glass. Another thing to replace. Next year. 

Some last minute dahlias to fill gaps in the borders. The ground has been wet and I’ve lost  things. Dahlias  were so successful in a new  bed last year ( that sounds grander than it is ) – a small patch I turned over to dahlias. Converted to the plants by Georgie at Common farm flowers to grow and to cut.

some of last years beauties .

Inspired by Lorraine Pullen new raised beds I need to prepare a small area at the end of the garden to copy her. ( thanks Lorraine) –  i am unsure if they will house vegetables or a cutting patch that’s for  a decision on another day. 

I have a bean trench to dig and bean canes to put up.  I have a patio to power wash. I have weeding to do. Deadheading. Feeding. Grass to cut. Cakes to bake. ( you need cake when gardening ) 

 How did I ever have time to work!! 

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Chelsea 2016


So another Chelsea Flower show done. How was it? To be honest. It felt different this year. Don’t ask me how. Or why. I don’t know. It just felt different. When I understand why I’ll let you know.

Did I enjoy it? Hell yes. I always do. It’s too busy compared with say Malvern where I went for the first time earlier this month. There’s polite and impolite pushing and shoving as only us Brits  do to get to the show gardens. Some hilarious comments about the gardens by people who pretend that they know what they are  talking about.  But even to a novice like me it sounds like …..

It’s expensive. It’s full of people because it’s Chelsea – not for the plants or the planting. There for the occasion. It’s the start of a social summer whirl. But I love it for all its many faults.

I’m neither a gardener or a designer or a horticulturist. So what do I know. But I garden. I know what I like. I’m  a very lucky man to be able to garden two very different gardens.  I make mistakes. I don’t plant deep enough I’m told. I don’t design – just plant what I like. Where I like and I make mistakes.

Shows like this give me ideas. Ideas of plants – of planting – the opportunity of getting new seeds and then talking to those who really know how to garden. Did I spend  money. Only on gardening gloves some seeds  and a host of plant catalogues.


I love the gardens  – both the main show and the Artisan gardens. This year I was disappointed in the latter. Usually they are some of my favourites as they seem accessible. For me this year they lacked something. But I liked this one. Interesting. Practical. Colourful.


The main show gardens are wonderful yet I often don’t really understand what makes a garden best in show. I know there’s a points system but to me I simply don’t understand the finer points.

We all have differing opinions on the planting. The plants. The structure. The colour. That’s good- isn’t it? I loved the planting in Rosy Hardys garden – I like colour. Jo Thomsons garden was beautiful. I didn’t see Diarnunds Twirling trees but I liked his  garden and the planting.  Cleeves  garden was lovely too.  They are all different and appeal to people on different levels.


Floral arrangements in the Marquee were unusual. But fab. Though not for Bruton High street. Not yet anyway.


I love the depth and breadth of the plants and the stands in the Marquee. Hardys always puts on a great stand and deservedly had their 21st gold.  The sweet peas were awesome as usual and i couldn’t resist a few seeds . But this year there didn’t seem to be the “plant”!that was  everywhere. In every garden. On every stand. Or maybe it just passed me by.

I talked Twitter friends with Lou Archer of Lou’s poo who I met for the first time – luckily I had two packets of poo in my bag which I’d bought earlier. Her alpacas poo. Not hers.


Was great to put a name to a face. Especially when your talking poo. Which Ian says I do a lot.

So it’s over for another year. Finished off with an alcoholic beverage with friends at the close of the day discussing what we liked. What we didn’t and what we bought.

Will I go next year. I suspect I will. I’ve been going for over 25 years. So why change a habit of a lifetime.