I started this blog two weeks ago. But it’s a long story. A lot can happen in two weeks and the blog was put to one side. So as Magnus Magnissson used to say ‘ I’ve started so I’ll finish!

Have I ever say I like tulips? Ok. Maybe a few times. Like a few hundred. I don’t like them I love them. It’s not always been like this though. Once upon a time. A long long time ago I was pretty indifferent. But my fascination has grown. And grown. A bit like dahlias. Without the earwigs.

Back in 2016 it was a sedate few in window boxes in London and the Pitcombe pots. Just a few. At that stage I didn’t realise I could stuff the pots with as many bulbs as I uncoils get in.

In 2017 the pots were stuffed with a few more tulips. Not stuffed really just a few more than the previous year. 2017 was a good year. I liked them. Good colours and a limited palette.

Somewhere in between helping at Common Farm flowers where Georgie grows row upon row of glorious tulips and a visit to the National Garden scheme open garden of Ulting Wick where Philippa plants thousands of tulips each year my addiction gained momentum. . There. I have admitted it. My name is Andrew and I’m tulip addict. . Or as when I was introduced to someone at the annual carol concert at our local church ‘ so you know Andrew? ‘Of course I know Andrew & Ian – the tulip men. ‘ at least it wasn’t the Flowerpot men. And at least they knew Ian’s name. He has been described as Andrew’s friend. Which makes me smile. As does being called Mr Jones in the local butchers where I have been going for 30 years. It made me feel old then. But then again I am now. 30 years older than when I first went in.

It didn’t stop. I found out that Peter Nyssen delivered to Spain and post Brexit I could still get them direct from Holland. No issues with the paperwork and customs. That’s a big deal. No company wants to deliver to Europe from the Uk. When we first bought the house we could get John Lewis delivered. Not any more. It’s too much hassle and too expensive. You lose the will to live with customs forms and customs charges.

In 2018 the first full year in Spain I planted some pots around the terrace. To be fair that was probably the best year for tulips in Spain. This year they have definitely been pants. The pots in particular. I think that the only ones I will grow going forward is in the white wall.

The tulips in the white wall which came on leaps and bounds after a shaky start. A bit short ~ like me ~ but that didn’t matter as they didn’t get snapped in the wind. The problem is water. They need two things. A cold spell and my only option is the fridge in Spain. And water whilst establishing. Which in Spain has been an issue.

In Somerset last year I went a bit bonkers ~ and at it’s full flow the bulb supplier described it as a dolly mixture of colours. It made up for the year before when I had planted the bulbs but didn’t see them once as we stayed away during the pandemic. We did get photos sent by neighbours and I randomly saw photos on instagram. Oh look. It’s our tulips in Pitcombe.

My attitude was I didn’t see them physically that year so I’m going over the top this. Grandad who’s not my grandad ~ you know like the roundabout that’s not a roundabout said early on as they were just getting into their stride ‘ not sure about these this year ~ not up to your usual standard. He’s nothing but honest is grandad. But even he had to eat his words. They took their time but were bloody lovely. Even if I say so myself.

I went a bit overboard as well in London. The front garden in London is small ~ oh. There is no front garden in Somerset it’s just a three feet bit of gravel onto the road.

I spend ages planning. Choosing. Changing my mind and then finding that the ones I want are out of stock and have to start again. It sounds like a lot of thought goes into it. It does. I talk to a few people where we share our favourites. I plan. I buy. Then leave it until the last minute to plant. And the pot list goes to , well pot and the bulbs are thrown in. Not literally. But I start off the best intentions. A bit like my approach to diets. Good start and then it’s all downhill. Except at the end with tulips the comments are better.

The truth is I don’t learn. Planting in late 2022 was late. So late some pots were planted in late January. When I first tried to plant the compost was frozen. I needed more compost. It was frozen when I bought it. My biggest fault ~ well as far as planting is concerned. Ian will give you a list of others if you ask – is the same whatever I’m planting. It’s labelling and sticking to the written plan. Which means when I’m asked what the flower name is it’s usually the same. Tulip unknown.

The London pots were filled with leftovers from the Pitcombe pots. Tulips. Not compost. Again grandad who’s not my grandad said. I’m not sure you’ll get as good a result as last year. Someone from the neighbouring village drove past the cottage and rolled down the car window and said the same. Just wait was the reply …. He did. She did And they were pleased. But not as pleased as me.

The most commented on tulip was West Point. A yellow lily tulip. It was lovely but I think yellow in Spring is for daffodils. I liked it. Ian loves it. It will be in the London pots as a compromise next year.

The London pots were a little thinner on the ground this year. Unlike Fed the geriatric cat who matches the path. The window boxes were pretty poor. Out of the three the small one with tulip royal virgin was ok. The main one was rubbish. I realised too late that it was an old window box I was using which had poor drainage. Schoolboy errors still continue and gardening isn’t all perfect despite what we see on social media.

I have already starting the planning for 2024 and I haven’t even emptied the 2023 pots yet. I’ve added names to a list. The colour. The height. Whether it’s early or late. I’ve decided solubles are ok for the window boxes but not right for the Pitcombe pots. I’ve decided that whilst I tried Angelique again this year it’s a non runner for me again. On its heyday it was stunning but it’s lost it for me. Tulip brown sugar remains a big favourite but maybe I’ve used it too much. Tulips pretty woman is a runner. I like oranges and some pinks. People love the dark tulips and black parrot grew on me tho I’m not a parrot fan. Oh. But Rococo is a stunner. See. I’m all over the place. Here. There and everywhere.

I have told a few people if they want any of this years bulbs for their gardens then they can dig them out but don’t take the pots!. I have emptied all of the London pots as they had gone well over and looked rubbish.

This year I planted some lovely reds, which may form the basis for next years pots. I have the names of the ones I want for the London window boxes as I randomly planted a large pot which was lovely. Really big and blousy so will form the basis of the window boxes. That’s a start. Oh. And if you are asking. Peter Nyssen is my go to supplier. Great service. Great bulbs.

So the tulip spam for 2023 has come to an end, unless you go visit my instagram account 😂.

I’d like to say that the next flower spamming would be the agapanthus but we lost a lot in Somerset and some of the large ones in the London pots don’t look encouraging. So you may be spared. I’m sure I will find something. Don’t worry. I will warn you to look away. But on a high note . The tree ferns have come through the winter pretty unscathed. But I was sensible and wrapped them early. Changed the straw in the crowns when it started to freeze . And yes. I have already poo’d my plants having had a delivery of Alpaca poo feed from Arches at the Larches.

I said I had started but hadn’t finished. The blog that is. . There was a reason. Water. Not like in Spain where there is the lack of it. I could write about the three days off and one day in and the man in a motor cycle driving around the camp turning valves on and off but that’s for smith we day. Where reservoirs are being declared dead. Where the water table is so low the shallow rooted pine trees are dying. But in Somerset we got more than we wanted. Needed. Every house needs running water. Just not through the house. The garden was so wet I was planning to grow rice in the garden. I’ve always said that good neighbours are great. Awesome ones are the best. The clearance for us was done quickly and the community comes together in times of need.

We were in the centre of a storm. One minute I was checking the river. It was where it was supposed to be. 4 bricks down and nowhere near the road. The next it was coming at all angles. The one thing you can’t control. Water. I pretended to be Moses and tried parting it. I tried a Harry Potter spell. But it didn’t work. It obviously doesn’t understand expletives either. . It’s also very scary. The speed of the rise of the river was unprecedented.

It’s been an eventful week. I’d forgotten how businesses want you to do everything online. Which when it works is just fine. When talking to someone is difficult. Because the email you get says don’t respond to this email. And there’s no contact number.

But it’s only as good as their applications. We had been chased for a declaration that had to be confirmed. On an app. . We would have been delighted to confirm. Except we couldn’t. Despite telling them. We got reminders. they told us it was an IT issue. We emailed them. We had a nice bit chat in the app. All recorded. On the app. So two weeks later it’s still an IT issue. I did politely suggest to them to turn their system off and back on again. That usually works for me. Action 13. Turn it off and on. Calls to London when it should have been Somerset. Calls to tell us they would call tomorrow to make an appointment ~ quite why they did that still baffles me. I gave feedback. They listened. They agreed. It’s now better.

But we got off lightly. Neighbouring villages had front walls down. Cars washed away ~ 5 feet of water inside their houses and they are nowhere near a river. They sadly will be out of their houses for months. We won’t be. Thankfully. .

I arrived back in London to have a video call from our neighbour in Spain. Look at this he said. Look at the bloody rain. It’s awful. Not want I wanted to see ~ whilst we are desperate for rain in Spain this wasn’t mainly on the plain. It was 2.000 feet up the mountain. Over head. But the rain is welcome. The gardens need it. The reservoirs need it. But a week after a flood rain is the last thing I want to talk about.

So it’s been eventful. Thrown in with my goddaughters 16th birthday. Grandad who’s not my grandad haymaking. Lunch and supper with friends and our Somerset family.

Oh and I forgot the MG rally going through the village where the cake stall under the arch made over £300 for various charities.

What did people mean when they said to me. What will you do in retirement? Won’t you be bored!