The taxpayers' revenge: saying it with flowers

If anyone would like to see what happens when you try to get the British taxpayer to pay for your garden, check this out

The axeman cometh (closely followed by the debt collector)

Yes, as you may have guessed from the title of this post, I've had the tree surgeons in. It must be a great job. Swinging from branch to branch, being out in the fresh air all day, high enough above the rest of the world to feel a certain sort of superiority. I'd go and retrain as a tree surgeon right away if it wasn't for two things: I get dizzy if I stand on a chair, and I'm so clumsy, I'd probably chop off my leg the minute I picked up a chainsaw.

The tree surgeons were dealing with the big purple-leaved plum at the end of the garden. It's a lovely tree, but it gets quite big, and casts quite a lot of shade. The fact that the leaves are purple makes it seem even darker, so I gritted my teeth and called in Edward Payne & Co, who had been recommended by my friend Georgina. She opens for the Yellow Book, so I know she has high standards.

I was impressed by the fact that they seemed reluctant to plough ahead without having a good think about it first, and that they were worried about whether a nest in the middle of the tree might be inhabited. It turned out to be an empty squirrel's nest.

The tree surgeons were closely followed by the electrician. I want to put a dedicated socket for the pond pump somewhere near the pond. At the moment, miles of unprotected cable runs all the way round the garden, cobbled together by moi with the help of a waterproof cable connector, underpinned by the safety net of an RCD (the circuit breaker - you can tell I've been talking to an electrician, can't you? It stands for Residual Current Detector). The circuit breaker protects me, sure, but it's prudent to have armoured cabling too.

After paying for all this, I'm expecting a knock on the door from the bailiffs. Springtime is so expensive.

The cherry tree, after pruning. It's difficult to cut a tree back like this without it looking too "scalped", but I think they've done a pretty good job.

It's so nice not to have a trampoline! This area is not so much a work in progress as an idea waiting to occur, but that's quite exciting in its own way.

A typically tropical moment

I've been feeling a bit dispirited about the garden recently. I know I've been joking about dithering and dawdling, but it really has been an effort to get out and get anything done, or think up new ideas, or muster any enthusiasm.

The spirit of the garden seemed to suffering too. It used to be quite in-your-face, a larger-than-life space full of larger-than-life plants. Now it seems a bit lacklustre, a bit - dare I say - boring.

I remember when I first moved in, someone came round to pick up their child and when they saw the garden, they exclaimed: "Goodness! It's like the Riviera." Wow, I said, that's a nice compliment. "Actually," said the mother rather waspishly, as she looked disapprovingly at the variegated cordylines and scarlet cannas, "I meant the Devon Riviera."

Actually, I'll settle for any riviera you care to mention - French, Cornish, Bulgarian, Mexican, German or Italian. (Well, maybe not Mexican.) I love that combination of blue skies and brilliant flowers, that on-holiday feeling that comes from being surrounded by Gauguin-bright colours and sub-tropical plants.

My garden used to give me that feeling. Sitting outside felt like being on holiday, especially on a sunny day. I decided that what I had to do was to try to recreate that atmosphere, even if it meant offending the gardening style police, who hate variegated foliage, and bright colours, and anything that looks remotely like municipal park bedding or French roundabouts, and doesn't look like Sissinghurst.

Usually I spend far too much time worrying about what other people think. However, on a visit to our local B&Q DIY store yesterday, to buy some screws to reattach the hinges on a kitchen cupboard, I came across a selection of the brightest, most garish geraniums (ie pelargoniums) you could hope to find outside of a floral clock. I didn't spare a thought for what more sophisticated souls might say. I found myself beaming with delight, and my hand stretched out, almost without me being aware of it, to take one down from the display.

Reader, I bought them. I bought the multi-coloured foliage ones ('Contrast') and the bronze foliage ones ('Vancouver Centennial') and the bright yellow foliage ones ('Occold Shield') and even the dark brown foliage ones (I think they were called 'Chocolate Twist'). Being B&Q plants, they weren't particularly expensive, though they are really well-grown - bushy, with lots of strong, sturdy stems and flower buds. Buds that will produce bright red flowers. How did I ever have the nerve?

And you know what? I went home and put them down on the terrace, still in the black plastic trays I'd filched from B&Q to keep them upright in the car, and felt happier about the garden than I had done for ages.

So what am I saying, that garish is good? Well, possibly, but more importantly I think the message is that we should have the confidence go with what we   like. Whether your taste is for box parterres, or garden gnomes, or massed busy lizzies that spell out Manchester United, indulge yourself. After all, it's you that's got to look at it most of the time.

There's a picture below. You might want to put on a pair of dark glasses.

A tribute to U A Fanthorpe, 1929-2009

The death was announced today of the poet U A Fanthorpe. Ursula Askham Fanthorpe (though she was always known as U A) is one of the most brilliant British poets of the past 50 years. She was tipped at one point to be the first female Poet Laureate and was the first woman in 315 years to be nominated as Oxford professor of poetry. (What a benighted country this is!)

Anyway, I first discovered U A Fanthorpe's poetry thanks to Germaine Greer and her Poems for Gardeners anthology. I thought I'd reproduce my favourite for you, because it just seems incredibly appropriate. Reproducing it is probably illegal, but here goes.

May 8th: How to recognise it

The tulips have finished their showy conversation.

Night's officers came briefly to report,

And took their heads off.

The limes have a look of someone

Who has been silent for a very long time,

And is about to say a very good thing.

Roses grow taller, leafier,

Duller. They have star parts.

Like great actors, they hang about humbly in the wings.

On the lawn, daisies sustain their candid

Childish shout. Hippy dandelions are stoned

Out of their golden minds. And always

The rub-a-dub-dub recapitulation

Of grass blades growing. The plum tree is resting

Between blossom and fruit. Like a poker-player,

She doesn't show her hand. Daffodils

Are a matter of graceless brown leaves and rubber bands.

Wallflowers have turned bony.

This is not the shining childhood of spring,

But its homely adolescence, angular, hypothetical.

How one regrets the blue fingertips staggering

Up from the still dank earth.

Yay, summer's on its way

OK, so the economy's rubbish and we're all about to get swine flu. And house prices are down again, and there's still no sign of anyone inventing completely calorie-free chocolate biscuits. 

But according to the Met Office, it's going to be a long hot summer. Hurray!

I knew this, of course, because the oak tree in next door's garden is in leaf, while the ash tree has yet to burgeon.

Oak before ash, in for a splash. Ash before oak, in for a soak.

It sounds like complete drivel, doesn't it? It sounds as if it's going to rain whatever happens. However, the idea is that with a splash, you just get a few showers, but with a soak it pours with rain for months on end.

I only heard this proverb for the first time last year and anxiously inspected the oak and the ash throughout spring 2008. Sure enough, the ash came into leaf first - not by much, but enough to be noticeable. It rained all summer, as you may recall.

However, if you think that oak and ash are puzzling, have a look at these. I found them on a BBC site and I thought I'd share my favourites:

If you sneeze three times within a few seconds, the next day will be sunny.

Er, I don't think so. If you sneeze three times within a few seconds at the moment, people will ask you if you've been on holiday in Mexico and give you a wide berth. I suppose the origin of this is that people tend to get hay fever in good weather, hence the sneezing, so it might be true.

Aiming a raspberry at the sky will lead to crop failure.

Why would anyone want to aim a raspberry at the sky? Especially if it leads to crop failure? And why a raspberry? What would happen if it was an apple or a pomegranate? (A. It would fall on your head and you wouldn't have to puzzle over it any more.)

The first frost in autumn will be exactly six months after the first thunderstorm of spring.

This may well be true. But while I will cheerfully admit to being a bit of a weather obsessive, even I am not sad enough to record the date and time of the first thunderstorm of spring. So I'll probably never know how accurate a prediction this is.

If you live in Wales and you build dry-stone walls, the rainy weather always appals.

This made me think of Karen at An Artist's Garden. I think it's a polite way of saying it rains all the time in Wales.

What are your favourite weather proverbs? The more bizarre the better. 

Help for Heroes

I know it's a little early to start the Chelsea previews, but this is in a good cause. One of the show gardens at the Chelsea Flower Show this year is by the charity Help for Heroes, designed by Drusilla Stewart and William Beresford of  All Seasons Design, and sponsored by B&Q.
Help for Heroes was started in 2007 to provide support to the wounded servicemen and women of the UK. They now raise approximately £1 million a month and provide direct help to those wounded and their families. You can read more about what they do on their website.

The garden will be a symbolic sanctuary, where those who do not return safely can find focus and the peace with which to deal with either physical or mental trauma after the ordeal of operations.

Drusilla's own husband is going to Afghanistan in May and the design was conceived after chatting to the wives of servicemen whose husbands are about to deploy with him.  
Drusilla says B&Q have generously given money to help them build the garden, but now that they are about to start building the garden at Chelsea, they are calling on friends, family and business contacts to help them reach their fundraising target of £30,000 for Help for Heroes .
If you would like to help, you can do so in two ways. Go to the fundraising page and make a donation. Or buy a limited edition Petunia 'Help for Heroes Mix' at B&Q stores. £2.35 from every £5 pack will go to the charity, and the flowers will be in the stores in the week commencing Monday 18 May (Chelsea Flower Show week).

If anyone is going to the show, Help the Heroes will be giving away wristbands and badges, and encouraging visitors to donate money into the “Wishing Well", and they will also be selling plants from the garden when the show ends on Saturday 24 May.

The “Help for Heroes Sanctuary Garden” itself will also be auctioned off at the end of the show and the hope is that a green-fingered philanthropist will come along and donate a big chunk of money to have the garden recreated in their own backyard. The design can be adapted to any sized garden, domestic or commercial.

The Chelsea Flower Show runs from 19 to 23 May. For further information on the show, or to purchase tickets, click here.