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Hello 2017

How have we already got to 16 Jan ? Where has the time gone ? Seems like only yesterday I was dodging the over filled shopping trolleys indicating it was some holiday.

I’ve started the year with my RHS Chelsea tickets booked. My RHS Chatsworth tickets booked. Both of which I’m looking forward to. Chelsea for me is a tradition – lunch first at Poulet au pot in Chelsea then a potter around the show. It’s become so familiar and samey but I darent miss it. But  I’m more excited about Chatsworth. Last year I loved Malvern. Next year I’m aiming for Tatton Park. 

I’ve been lucky to have had two outings already so far this month. A hot date with Georgie from Common Farm Flowers to  At the Chapel to the first of their 2017 events – a talk by Satish Kumar. A thought provoking talk on Soil Soul and Society. Helped along by putting the world to rights in the bar after the event. 

We are lucky to have Hauser & Wirth on our door step and the wonderful Piet Oudolf garden. It’s a stunning garden. Thomas Piper has made a film of Piet Oudolf and his  projects which is beautifully shot and has some great music. We were lucky to have them give a preview of the film at a sold out Hauser and Wirth event  followed by a Q & A after the film with them both. Piet Oudolf movie is definetly worth checking out. As is the garden at Hauser and Wirth. In all seasons.  Was interesting seeing the comments on instagram after the event and realising that people who I follow and who follow me were there as well. Next time. Badges.  

January is a dreary month in our garden in Somerset. More so this year as I’ve put off jobs as we weren’t sure of the timing for some work on the cottage which meant the borders would be moved. Looks like I may have another summer out of them. 

So in need of some advice I’ve persuaded the lovely Sara Venn to come and visit. That is if she ever stops to take breath. She’s here there everywhere and I can’t see a hairy biker without thinking of her! 


The last time we were together we were like naughty school girls at a workshop at Common Farm Flowers.  So I need to make sure I feed her cake and lunch. And listen and learn. 

I’ve ordered seeds from Mr Higgledy – where I’ll get said seeds and a note written in really writing. In ink. That is if Flash hasn’t eaten the seeds. Or the pen. Or Ben. 

I’ve a pile of catalogues to look at – gardening ones not Grattan or Freemans ( some not all will remember them). Dahlias to plan. A greenhouse to research. When I retired ( early. I have to keep saying that) I was given money towards a new greenhouse. That’s been on hold and the old one strapped together and glazed in parts with plastic. So…. decisions. 

It’s not all been gardening though at times like this weekend it’s been all I’ve done. Looks like the year has started as it will go on. A call to see if I was around and if I could have the boys for two days. Well it was one and I offered two. My hat goes off to parents. I don’t know how you do it full time. I can give them back!! Didn’t help I had to be a responsible adult with a 10 and 12 year old. In central London. In the lego shop. And the M and M shop. Or being embarrassed in the Chinese supermarket in China town as the 12 year old said  ‘ Uncle Andrew –  you need to check the sell by date on those crisps’. Thanks I said. It’s in Chinese. He picked them up. Turned them over. In front of the person behind the till. And said. Yep.  They are ok. I forgot. At 12 he’s learning Chinese. 

So we’re at back in London where I have geraniums still flowering on the first floor window and where a white agapanthus is in bud.Theres a micro climate on the patio – the frost hasn’t  caught them. There’s a potted orange by the front door. With blossom. It’s madness. 

And we are only two weeks in. 

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Gardens. Villages. Days out. 

Have I told you that I have retired? Ok. I have. On more than one occasion I know. Well I’m still getting used to it – it’s nearly 9 months now. How fast time goes when your having fun  

When I retired I decided that once a week I would have a day off. A day off Ian remarked. Surely every day is a day off now. Ha. I said. Look at the list you’ve drawn up. Septic tank. Boiler service. Alarm service. Flood gate service. Garden. Weed. Tidy. Check this. Cancel that. ( please don’t mention the attic or the cellar. That’s winter work)  I’ve enough to keep me busy for months.

 That and school runs. Courses. Jeremy Kyle and Tipping point.  I need a day off all duties and it’s called Me time. So I rebelled  and I have. Well not every week but some of them. In London I go to galleries. To lunches with friends and ex colleagues. Who happen to also be friends. I walk. Have coffee at my favourite coffee places. Breakfast at greasy spoons. Alone sometimes. With friends other days. But it’s always what I want to do. Selfish. Me. For those days. Yes. 

In Somerset it’s been lovely to visit villages and places that I haven’t been to for a while. Or for some not at all – which – having been here 22 years is a bit shocking. There are places still on this years list. I’m embarrassed to say I haven’t been to the garden at Hauser & Wirth this summer. It’s a glorious prairie garden designed by Piet Oudolf  and is only a 5 minute drive away. Shocking. There’s also a fab gallery and the great Roth Bar and Grill 

Last year at Hauser & Wirth 

So today I have had a lovely trip to Bradford on Avon. A short drive from the cottage but we were last there over 10 years ago on a wet and miserable Sunday where there was little open. I know it was over 10 years ago as it was pre two god children and we were there with their parents. All I remembered was this cute tea rooms The Bridge Tea Rooms in the centre of the town where we ate cake in damp clothes. It still looks exactly the same. Well it would really given the age of the building! – former blacksmiths cottage c1502. Previously  we didn’t see the canal. Or the Tithe Barn. We saw very little now come to think of it. Except clotted cream. Scones and some sandwiches. Oh. And rain. 

The Bridge Tea Rooms 

The tourist attraction  for the town is the canals. I’m not sure a canal holiday is for me to be honest. Enclosed in a small place with nowhere to go if I had a hissy fit. Which I have been known to have every now and then. Nowhere to stomp off to. But everyone seemed happy and smiley as they worked the boats. And the locks. Those amazing inventions. I’m sure we’d have a few rows with those. And the directions. We have usually had at least two before we navigate out if the car park at the airport. God help us on canals. I don’t suppose they have sat nag? Do they. 

Canal Barges 

Made me think of my  mother. She had a saying ‘ oh. He has feet like canal barges’ – seeing these today made me think of that! 


Even the dog looked cntent. 

There’s a fab old Tithe  hall. Beautifully crafted. Gorgeous light. Stunning open space. A 14c monastic stone barn. You couldn’t use it for dancing tho. The floor is too uneven and ridged in parts – so no dancing – especially in heels. Which I wasn’t wearing. Obviously. 

Tithe Barn Bradford upon Avon
Glorious crafted roof 

Glorious light 


It’s amazing how these structures are still standing and thankfully this is grade 1 listed. Looked after by English Heritage so it will be around longer than me. 

You don’t go to Bradford in Avon to shop. If you want coffee or cake then that’s fine. Or to eat. Or more coffee. There are  lots of coffee shops.  lots of eating places. But there again there are lots of tourists. But it’s not packed out. Well not today anyway. 

Lovely light & flowers in the alleyway 

There are cute views. Small little alleyways. With a plant here and there. 


There are narrow  streets – the type I drove down unintentionally in Spain breathing in and praying I met nothing coming toward me. It worked. I didn’t. But I realised at the end it was a one way street. I may have or I may not have uttered a few swear words as I drove through. 


Gorgeous views. The friend I was with likened it to Bath. Without the madness. The crowds & the high street shops. Which isn’t a bad thing. 

She’s right. I will be back. And before another ten years. 

Last week I ventured somewhere new. I had heard about it from friends. From Facebook posts. From witters on Twitter. But had never been. Shame on me. I was taken to  lunch at The Walled Garden Mells

Tables near the cafe 


A fab place for lunch. A great garden. Awesome pizzas and great quiche and the delight of a scone and cream. Jam first. Of course.  There are lots of lovely sitting areas. It’s fab. 


I don’t want you to think I’m entirely selfish and exclude Ian! We do manage to do some days out together. We have been making the most of our National Trust membership. This month we have visited Lytes Cary Manor a nice (ish) Manor House but I was more impressed with the borders in the garden and the lovely allotments.  

Moody shot of the house 


Fabulous allotments 

We also returned to another we hadn’t visited for a while  Stourhead
It’s such a lovely house and garden. We decided to give Kylie a run out and to walk around the lake. Just us not Kylie. 

Kylie

The walk around the grounds is stunning and I wished we had taken a picnic to sit by the lake and take it all in. But we didn’t. So managed a takeaway tea and a sarnie. To be fair it wasn’t bad at all. 



So it’s been a good few weeks. I’ve visited The BP portrait exhibition in London. Twice. Because once is never enough. I liked it more the second time and I had a few favourites. 


There were some I didn’t get & some I liked more than others. 

So the rest of the month is busy but with no days out. We have our annual river clearance coming up where for one day and one day only each year I don waders and long gloves and with the village people ( better phrased –  people of the village- before you think Indian headdress leather chaps don’t really work in water) clear the river of debris and crap. Not your actual crap. That stopped flowing in the river years ago. 


River Pitt – the river. The old bridge and the Heron 

Then  it’s off on our annual holidays! Together. Where no doubt there will be photos. And a bit of a blog. 

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Dahlia love 

Growing up my parents grew  a few dahlias. In the back garden. Never the front. Me.  I hated them.  Yes they were colourful. Yes they were large. Looked great in a vase. But I still hated them. The reason. Earwigs. I always associated dahlias with creepy crawly earwigs. Out of the layered petals. Out of the Pom Poms. Out of the cactus flowers. Jumping out all wriggly. . Making me scream when they appeared on your arm as you carried them in. Getting told off for virtually dead heading the blooms by violently shaking them before I took them in to rid the petals of those horrible little critters. Nope. Nothing persuaded me. 

 So for years when I started gardening and had my own garden I ignored them. No. Not years. Decades. They somehow fell out of ‘fashion’ too. You didn’t see them in bouquets.  Yes you had the standard inter flora bouquet. Standard flowers. Standard price. Standard quality. No individuality.  Flown not grown. Chosen by looking at a picture replicated in every town and county across the British Isles. 


So what changed my view. I had a number of bouquets & jam jar posies from my friend and flower farmer Georgie Newberry at Common Farm Flowers ( I may have mentioned her once or twice in previous blogs! ) – which included some lovely flowers. Yep. . I was surprised. Amongst other flowers of varying degrees of gorgeousness there were dahlias. Guess what. I liked them. A lot. They weren’t your standard dahlia. To me. They were unusual in colour. In shape.  They looked great in a vase. They lasted well. I didn’t expect to get dahlias. But then one never knows what your going to get from Georgie! What you do know  is that you’ll get something different every time. Different because the flowers are seasonal. Oh. And beautiful.  So encouraged by Georgie and introduced to Karen  at Peter Nyssen I decided to grow some. 

Last years dahlia 


Last year was my first  and I was pleased with the results. I had set aside  a small patch purely for dahlias. Largely for cutting. Encouraged  & educated as well by the excellent  book by Andy Vernon ( dark prince of dahlias/big Mary flower fairy- his description. Not mine) – stop there. I’m not describing myself. Am I?  So I had a bash at growing them.

How did it go. T be honest I could have done better but I had some great cut flowers right up until the Autimn. 

I was rubbish  at staking but that’s nothing new for me.  I could have nipped them out a bit better at the start but I had blooms. And do you know what. I liked them. A lot. I am a dahlia convert.  Am I any better this year! Mmm jury is out. But it’s been a funny old  start.  

The dahlias proved a great addition – it was fab to be able to pick some single blooms to sit around the house. Especially to use the single stem glass things ( good technical term ) I had bought at a fab Vintage Glass  shop run by my friend Mr Glass in Londons Camden Passage. A small collection! – I have hidden the others for fear of Ian finding them. 


Last year I loved the darkness of Black Jack Rip City. Chat Noir. The different shapes. Textures. If only dahlias had a scent! 

Autimn came. Should I dig them up? Should I leave them in. Being lazy I left them in.  This year the garden was going to be a big hit and miss. We were due to do an extension. Plants would need to be moved. Given away. Discarded. Replaced. Beds were to be moved. Reborn.   – none of that has happened. Maybe next spring. 

Our ground is also pretty wet during the winter. We are in the South West after all – but most survived the winter and later than I’d hoped have just started to flower.  First to arrive was a Bishop. A Leicester. There’s a Llandaff in bud – has to be done as I lived in Llandaff in a past life though I’m not a huge Llandaff lover. The dahlia. Not the place. The place has a fab cathedral.my grand parents are buried there and a fab cross designed by Epstein. Like many things I think dahlia Bishop of Llandaff  over rated. 

But  The bishops arrived  first to  welcome in the rest of the team when they decided to arrive.  But most I think have come through. My nightly slug watch has been worth it. Though the little b….rs  still appear. This is the year of the slug for me – certainly in Somerset. In London it’s been snails. 

One of the first arrivals Bishop of Leicester


I have decided I have too many reds so I am thinking already of next year. I have seen some lovely yellows and whites and some orange Pom Poms. Not my favourite shape as I like them a bit of a spiky cactus or a bishop.  Plus there’s more little places for earwigs. Like a bug box. But I need to get over it. I need to be brave. 


Morning Dew on the dahlias this year 

This week I was up early and was surprised at the dew on the ground. Armed with a cup of tea and my phone I wandered around  the garden taking some early morning pics. Best ones were of the dark dahlias. Lovely shapes. Lovely form. Been a long time since I’ve been described like that ! 

So my hunt for new colours has started even before this years bed is in full bloom. I am still pondering tulips. But for dahlias  I have a list already – Cafe au Lait. White star. yellow star. Veronnes Taylor Swift. Summer flame. A couple of the Karmas. Little snowdrop. But I need to be early if I want to get what I want!  And realistic unless I increase the patch. Like my bald patch. Ever increasing. Year on year. 

Any suggestions on personal favourites gratefully received! 

 A lone yellow 


Big fat flouncy yellow dahlias seen in a florist in Paris last year. 

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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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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