smashed flat by the rain

It's been a rainy June. Of course that's good considering the amount of watering I have to do some years, but of all things, my Amelenchier has been twatted by the rain. All upward-pointing branches are now dangling. At first I thought a pigeon (Amelenchier berries tasty, pigeons are not good at judging their own weight) but then I realised that the branches damaged were those that had been pointing up. I fiddled with a couple thinking about splints, then saw how many branches were damaged and moved onto tidying up.

Other things smashed flat by the rain this year:

• Opium Poppies. Two flowers, then; smashed flat by the rain
• Daffodils. Face down in the mud.
• Tulips: Exotic Emperors, rolling in the dirt
• Lychnis; Hot pink cut flowers now!
• Grape Hyacinth: Flopping dismally in their pots
• Rose Blue Moon: Into the bud vase with you.

Struggling to remember what an Amelenchier is? Meet my (fan) Service Bush:

A useful plant, with year round interest. Berries edible rather than palatable.

June in the Garden

The most beautiful flowers are food for the slugs (actually they don't seem very keen on the foxgloves).

notes towards a green wall

My garden is steeply terraced, and the bottom retaining wall is an ugly concrete block affair. My guess is that it was always meant to be finished, but never quite got there. That long-term ambition to green that wall up (unlike household walls, moisture on this wall will be no problem) is curtailed by the lack of light in that tiny space. It'll need to be grotto planting; very tolerant of low light indeed.




This sunny bank out beside a Boathouse's floating wharf on the Thames has the look I like though - semi-wild, space for the stones between the plants. But I suspect I'll have to swap around species -- Asplenium for the Hart's Tongue, maybe. And should I be putting a loose stone face on the concrete for the plants to peek out of?

I think about it on the way home, past the distractions of June. The house on the corner of my street has old fashioned climbing roses threaded through mature apple trees. The roses are small and apple blossom pink and highly scented, so it raises your head to the flowers as you walk by.

bringing the revolution back from Chelsea

I was uncomfortable at Chelsea. There was something kind of deep seated about it; a sense of being surrounded by oligarchal wealth and the sense of being "u". and "not-u" (yes, really), of favoured garden designers being promoted like pampered pets, sponsors courted and money being delicately milked from the super-wealthy through a combination of champagne flattery and decadent fripperies, to create an airy economic space full over overheated nothings; a little tulip bubble that had nothing to say to the real world.

There were three specific gardens which took me down this road:

The British Eccentrics Garden contained twiddling trees and a fairy house from which the UK's favourite Garden Gnome, Diarmuid Gavin, exited at regular intervals to wave to his public. It had lovely planting, and was hilarious and quite charming in a silly sort of way. It guaranteed your glimpse of celebrity, and gave a cast-iron thing to point to when your gardener (for surely it was aimed at the sort of people who have (under)gardeners) said, sir, I'm not really sure that that's possible...

The Senri-Sentai Garage Garden is the creation of Kazuyuki Ishihara, a darling of Chelsea. I saw him getting his medal on the TV coverage, that adorable explosion of delight. He is a charming man, and the garden is both beautiful and inspirational for a small-scale urban gardener such as myself. However, I somehow got a zoo-twitch, and a sense of coo, and a sense of look at these charming little ideas for little people!

Finally, Antithesis of Sarcophogai, which was the belle of the Chelsea ball, and a truly astonishing piece of work. While I was queuing, the designers were working the queues, looking for useful contacts. We had a brief, light conversation during which I was initially assumed to be a fellow professional, maybe some kind of garden designer, and I felt a touch of the desperateness of the competitive hot-house, of young designers struggling up into the light, each upturned face saying give me money and admiration or I die,

I'm a "non-u" and not scene. No money, so not a sponsor, no business, so not a professional. But I am a critical customer of the garden experiences I consume, and this one feels a little rich for my tastes.

Computer Assistance Cowley's flowershow

My local computer shop does do a lovely job on our computers.



    
     



The same care an attention is visible in their front-garden, which is all in troughs and planters, much of it bricked in, so it sits above the Oxford clay (or possibly on top of tarmac). Bright and sunny!

bringing the bonkers back from chelsea

The point of garden shows (if there is one beyond PLANTS=AWESOME) is new ideas, inspiration, discovery. A variety or plant type you were completely unaware of. Something you were aware of, but which turned out to be a lot more exciting in real life. New ways of growing, treating or presenting.Ways or arranging or dividing your outdoor space to make things better.

Inspiration is a wobbly thing. Showgardens are not real gardens. They're somewhere between set designs and giant floral arrangements. The plantsellers all have their own agendas and rules, none of which may have any relevance to your own garden. But nevertheless, the mad gleam. The idea. The spark. I will do and this is such a brilliant idea that nothing could possibly go wrong.

So, let's get the post inspiration job-list started. It's time to get those ideas initiated. I'm bringing back the bonkers from Chelsea:

1. I will replace all of my boring Aquilegia with exciting ones. I've had a few mysterious and pretty Aquilegia over the years, but all have reverted to good old Vulgaris with its vigorous leaves that outcompete everything, its spreading and self-seeding and its purple and pink flowers. I've bought Blue Star and Nora Barlow seeds to get me started, but I'm after some yellows,oranges and reds too. This will involve weeding out all my current plants, starting a bunch of new ones in trays, weeding out the seedlings that come in the beds as they turn up and eventually replacing with my favoured flowers. Plus the intriguing possibility that they'll all come up pink and purple anyway, because hey, reversion. 
2. I will torture my fig tree. I have a leggy little (well, it clearly has ambitions - from the size of the leaves it would happily cover the side of a house) fig tree in a smart square pot. But what if I got it out of that pot and into a shallow trough, and exposed some roots for decorative reasons? What if I began to train the branches to a tighter space, and began making carefully considered pruning? Could I get it to a small, tight plant? Would its leaves shrink to match the dimensions its allowed? Because I saw a great Bonsai made of a similarly common and vigorous plant, and if you can do it to a Pieris, I bet you can do it to a fig.
3. I will make my fern corner into a fern palace. Currently I have a couple of dry ferns and a Tree Fern in poor repair huddled gloomily around the water butt in the shadiest corner of the garden. And a self-seeded hazel because hey, squirrels. But it could be so much better! More moss, better rocks, more carefully chosen plants (maybe some smaller ferns as opposed to the ones that keep outgrowing their pots?) and maybe something over that bare concrete block wall, maybe some sort of fern mosaic, in cool greens, isn't it time you put that mosaicing (sp?) course to use?

Yes, yes yes I know. Steady on now. 

looking at chelsea

It's the fanciest possible garden show, very crowded, and reputedly chock-full of celebrities. But what does it look like? Well, a bit like this:

 



That bottom right shot is a celebrity; Diarmud Gavin, of the Rusty Shed controversy, pantomiming watering his "English Eccentrics" garden, which he did steadily, throughout the day, at 15 minute intervals. It's not hard to see a celebrity at Chelsea; you just have to wait. Sadly the deficiencies of my camera left him out of shot. and in any case, tripping over celebrities left right and centre quickly palls, as demonstrated by a couple in a one of the queues who had found their trip repeatedly interrupted by Carol Klein being interviewed in front of something they wanted to look at sort of amusing/annoying.

These photos all show the crowds, which are intense but not at Glastonbury levels - you can still see pretty much everything, even though the site is small, densely packed, intense. The orchid tunnel was a shuffle through in single file display, but this was the exception rather than the rule.

More photos, including a garden I really liked and some flowers that caught my attention, including this, the most beautiful plant (which I duly bought).

spriggy gets his spring trim

It's a moment of slight sadness, Spriggy's spring trim. This year his hedge was gaudied about with Euphorbia, Valerian and Alkanet, and the first flowers were just beginning to break bud. I recorded the pretty flowers and set about with my shears.




This year, I'm growing Spriggy's back up, so in the end I was able to leave a lot of the creamy flowers to thrill the local bees. I'm also lifting the topiary up and away from the hedge ; you can see light under his tail and legs now. Things are looking a little spare and lumpy as a result, but the second cut (after the flowers are done) will smooth things out.

I found the head was looking a tad savage when I was done, so chopped out his long nose. He's now got a bit of a gappy, goofy mouth - and I couldn't resist giving him a tongue of some of the chopped-off Red Valerian.

hot chelsea takeaways

I took the tube to Chelsea. Not the London tube, the Oxford Tube; the bus that likes to pretend we are just another suburb of Magis Londinium. We rolled off the Tube at Victoria and straight onto the Chelsea bus. a vintage double decker that instantly has you wondering if visitors have been being bussed to the flowers like this since it started (1913). Probably.

It's not huge, Chelsea. You don't need walking boots like you do for some of the other shows (Malvern, I'm looking at you). You're seldom more than five minutes walk from a bar. There are queues, and these are full of people complaining about the judges in chummy voices. But it took someone coming up to me and starting a conversation assuming I was an aspiring garden designer for me to realise just to what extent everyone knew everyone else.

I've been to lots of conventions in my time (comics and science fiction mainly)  and it was amusing to map across the types - the super-fans, the workshop leaders, the eager kids, the grand muffs and the great old ones, the despised and the darlings. There's even a type for us, of course; curious outsiders.

I did enjoy it, and if my partner-in-plants is keen, fully intend to attend next year. But I think I might set myself a task beforehand. With so many people there in the business, working, ligging or shmoozing, I felt a proper slacker for simply attending.

I'll be back with more detail and photographs, but for now, five things I learned at Chelsea:

• If you're going to all the flap of having a green wall, you might as well make a feature of the irrigation system, Also: MOSS!!!!!
• Orange is the brightest colour. And also the most delicate colour, and the most mindful colour and the most politically active colour, While other colours exist, they are all in subjugation to orange, and in particular to this Iris. Orange.
• Raised garden platforms are completely a thing.
• Naked Lady Sculptures in your garden can sometimes work (however....)
• A queue is neither an adjunct nor an annoyance, but part of the experience; a tiny pilgrimage undertaken for purely practical reasons, a mizmaze made of social obligation, semi-awkward interaction and expectation. Queue!

Plus an insight into my personality; I find greenhouses more interesting than trains, and even if it is a glorious, mint-condition, antique 60-ft Pullman First Class Carriage and dining car stuffed full of marquetry, antiques and mosaics, I will still peevishly mutter that they could have put some plants in it....