JUNE

July 22, 2019 by tom howard

An evening scene

There’s something quite Japanese about it, which is a complete and utter fluke.

Welcome home

Before the white flowers of the Persicaria Polymorpha swamped the Osteospermum and before the red rose (name unknown) got so heavy with flower it almost collapsed and before the Lavender went over and before the Penstemon were in full flower and before Rosa ‘The Fairy’ put on her show and before the Calamagrostis and Miscanthus got high enough to screen the bins, this is what the front garden looked like.

So fresh and so green

The luscious vigour of a Wisteria Sinensis that cannot stop growing is something to behold, and it’s invigorating to watch a plant in such fine health get bigger, and more unmanageable, by the day.

The one, the only, Geranium ‘Patricia’

As you can possibly tell, my Geranium ‘Patricia’ isn’t actually that happy where it lives. It gets overshadowed by the Phlomis behind it, and this year for the first time ever, it actually got crushed by the flower stems of the Phlomis, which forced their way on top of ‘Patricia’ and are actually quite rude. Their flowers have been and gone and because they were being so obnoxious I cut the flower stems back, rather than leaving them over the winter, to let ‘Patricia’ breathe. Now if ‘Patricia’ were a truly happy plant, there would be a lot more flowers on her than this. But nonetheless her magenta is still one of the most powerful colours in the garden. When her colour is gone I shall lift and divide and try and find somewhere for her to be truly happy next year.

March 27, 2019 by tom howard

MARCH

I’ve never tried a bulb lasagna before, but they’re good aren’t they! Somewhere in the middle of this glorious mayhem of muscari, daffs and tulips is a salvia, which I’m hoping will rise as the bulbs fade, and then keep on flowering until the frosts come (if they come, given that climate change has turned my back garden into a relentlessly tropical paradise). By which time, of course, the bulbs will be poking through again, and we’ll be ready to start the extravaganza all over again.

Hellebores plus, I think, Lamium galeobdolon (common names: yellow archangel, artillery plant) both of which have been transplanted from a garden in Hampshire. It’s taken the hellebores a couple of years to settle into their new home, but they’re doing okay. This has been the hardest part of my garden to get right. It’s dry shade, and you can see it from the living room window, so it needs evergreen things (ferns, heucheras) and winter flowering things (hamamelis, hellebores), and things that just flower and flower and flower (geraniums). Things take a while to establish here, but once they’re happy they’re dead happy,

She built a shallow raised bed for her tomatoes, then she sowed some runner bean seeds (“beanstalks”). Went too early on the seeds I think, and they haven’t germinated after two weeks (no greenhouse here, so we’re relying on hot sun and not baltic nights). But we’ll try again soon. She will get her beanstalks.

Tomato ‘Red Cherry’ embracing life on a south facing windowsill. They germinated very quickly, but when the sun comes out they dry out super fast so they need attention paid to them. Sowing seeds has become my new favourite thing, because it feels good and proper to go on the entire journey with a plant, from germination to (in this case) extermination. But given that I have a fairly small garden, I’ll be giving 90% of these plants away (or selling them). The rest I will DEVOUR.

Is there a finer sight in a garden than homemade compost? I do not reckon. Here’s how I make it in a small space. I have two large garden waste bags. At any given time, one is being used as a compost heap. This is treated as you would treat any regular compost heap. Plant matter is added, veggies are added, cardboard is added - all the usuals. It gets very hot (it’s in a south facing spot) and I very rarely run out of space to add stuff into it. The worms and the heat very quickly churn through whatever gets put into it. Then, in spring, I empty it into the second garden waste bag (this is the only time it gets turned), and there is always a nice load of delicious fresh compost at the bottom of the bag. The second garden waste bag goes where the first one was, and the fresh homemade compost gets spread around the garden. I usually only have enough to properly mulch a small bed or two, but still: totally excellent.

Pulsatilla. In a trough that’s full of dry and surely by now basically nutrient free soil, and in a south facing position - happy as you like and coming back every year. I’ve added an aubretia and some thyme to keep it company, and also a Euphorbia characias subsp. wulfenii that will, eventually, swamp it, but hopefully not for a year or three. I want those zingy limey flowers to clash perfectly with these.

A happy bee.

March 27, 2019 by tom howard

FEBRUARY

I was, towards the end of last summer, getting a bit sick of this wisteria. On the front of a not massive three bedroom terraced house it’s a hard plant to keep tidy, especially as it’s still young, doesn’t yet flower, and produces a vast amount of foliage. I either have to embark on a little and often pruning schedule, which can get a bit tiresome as it involves using The Big Ladder. Or I just have to let it go and embrace its wildness before I can give it its summer of winter prune. Neither of these approaches appeals hugely to me (really, this plant is too big for this house) and I was seriously considering getting rid of it and replacing it with, say, a Trachelospermum jasminoides, which would enjoy the heat, smell good and be much more manageable (IE, slow growing). But then the leaves fell off and I couldn’t help but be seduced by the weird twists, turns and shapes that the ripened wood is starting to make, and the the increasing thickness of the ever maturing truck. It’s starting to obtain the character that all the best wisterias have. The weird twists, turns and shapes exist, by the way, because I pruned the plant incorrectly for two or three years before I worked out what I was supposed to be doing. So there are far too many stems climbing up this trellis, which will almost certainly be pulled off the wall one day. But whatever. I love this plant. It has grown alongside my gardening knowledge, and it has both withstood my ignorance and benefited from my greater understanding of the hows and whys of pruning vines. When it eventually flowers (not this year, I’ve closely inspected the buds) I’ll sit on the lawn in front of it and have a little cry. A happy cry, in tribute to my efforts finally being rewarded.

The bird bath, which lives among the ferns and in the shade of an olive tree and a mahonia and, as you can see, does a good job of collecting the petals and berries that fell off said mahonia. I like it, and it looks good from the house, but it seems to be a bit too tucked away and doesn’t get any regular feathered visitors. I need a highly visible bird feeder or two, so the birds can come for a meal and stay for a wash.

I really do like it when Olive takes an interest in any sort of flower. Here she is gently cradling a hellebore like it’s a baby sparrow or something. And this hellebore is an absolute champ. It lives in a pot, in deep shade, out the back of the house. It has been in the pot for, maybe, six years? It mush be pot bound. I give it no love. It gets no food. I’ve never repotted it. It gets hardly any sun. Granted, I water it, and seemingly that’s all it needs because it comes back every year and I am always, always, always delighted to see it.

In a small garden (and probably, really, in a large garden) Narcissus ‘Tete-a-Tete’ cannot be beaten. Always nice and early, always perfectly formed. Delightful.

JANE PERRONE INTERVIEW

January 07, 2019 by tom howard

I recently interviewed Jane Perrone, host of the On The Ledge podcast and former gardening editor of The Guardian, about houseplants for The Clerkenwell Post. Here it is:

FLOWERS IN DECEMBER

December 10, 2018 by tom howard

It’s wet, cold and rank out there, but there are still some bits and bots doing the business in the garden. This is why London gardening is great. All these pics were taken on December 2.

A hebe of some kind, backed by Pittosporum tenuifolium ‘Silver Queen’.

Some kind of small-petalled fuchsia, given to me as a cutting by my Dad. This plant, he informs me, is doing much better than the parent plant is in Devon.

A calendula officinalis - pot marigold - that survived the frost. It’s had an interesting year. Planted it in the spring with the tomatoes and the peppers. Did quite well, flowered a bit, then suffered from drought for two weeks when I went to Italy for two weeks. Assumed it was dead, but cut it back instead of digging it out just in case, and here we are. It’s in a raised bed on an east facing fence, and it loves the morning sun.

Lychnis coronaria ‘Alba’. It’s seen better days, obviously, but I love that it’s managed to pump one last flower out for the year. I’ve been deadheading it regularly all summer but I’ll let this guy go to seed to see if it’ll self-seed somewhere else in the garden.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: this Rosa ‘Kew Gardens’ is magic.

See ya later Clematis (unknown cultivar), you’ve done very well INDEED to get this far.

I’m calling it now: this Erigeron karvinskianus is so happy in its sheltered west-facing spot on a white wall I reckon it’s gonna be evergreen for me. Don’t be so ridiculous! Oh okay. Well, if it self-seeds all over my big concrete steps I’ll be delighted with that too.

A Mahonia japonica rescued from the house my gran moved out of two or so years ago. Repotted it, didn’t I, but it didn’t flower in its first year, did it, but now it’s doing this so it was worth the wait. Not remotely fragrant though, which is deeply disappointing.

Hydrangeas, of course.

This Jasminum nudiflorum (winter jasmine) is, as you can see, undeniably in flower. But its not that happy in its pot so once it’s done I’m plant it underneath the Rosa ‘Kew Gardens’ so it can cascade through the wooden picket fence and over the top of the big concrete steps. It’s a brilliant idea and I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to think of it.

Rosa ‘The Fairy’. Inherited this from the previous owners, and I like it a lot. Very healthy, disease free, flowers late, is nice and perky when its surroundings are dreary.

Cheeky little Christmas daffodil, smells delightfully of sherbet.

AUGUST

August 15, 2018 by tom howard

Another picture dump

Because life is busy isn’t it

Is there a finer sight in a garden than a Pineapple Lily? Love its little hairdo.

My debut salvia. Inspired, really, by a two-day Urban Gardening course I did back in May at Walworth Garden. The guy who ran the course - Oli Haden - was giving people in attendance plant recommendations for small gardens, and the two families that came up the most were euphorbias and salvias. Lots of varieties, happy in a wide range of conditions, and they either flower for a long time (salvias) or provide year-round structure (euphorbias). So I bought this (the name eludes me, I’ve lost the label), and whaddayouknow, it’s flowered all summer long. I love it so much I’m gonna dig out my disappointing front garden rudbeckia border and replace it with loads of different salvias. It’ll be beautiful.

Rosa Iceberg, looking delightful in last night’s rain.

Clematis Madame Julia Correvon, climbing up an olive tree in the front garden. Hasn’t actually done well in this, its second year. In theory it should’ve flowered from June to September, but I got about six really small flowers in late August. I have one theory: it didn’t like the extreme heat.

You don’t need me to tell you how amazing Geranium Rozanne is. Flowers forever, while everything collapses around it. Hasn’t minded the heat one bit.

Double vision

Until this year, when I grew them for the first time, I did not realise that sunflowers A/ have little sunflower babies, and therefore produce multiple flowers in one season and B/ sometimes produce these flowers at the same time, as illustrated above. I love the little fight they're having in the middle of the picture, and I love the slight difference in colour, as if the petals fade when they spend some time in the sun. I've really grown attached to these flowers, you know. They've been incredibly easy, have been blooming since June and almost always have bees buzzing around them. I'm keen to get them in the ground in a border next year, because they don't take up much room and provide excellent height, but I'll stick to medium-sized ones because the giant ones are terribly ungainly, don't you think.

The second coming

My garden is small, so all the plants in it need to earn their keep. The easiest ways to please me are 1/ be evergreen (for example: bamboo) 2/ be a self-seeder (for example: erigeron) 3/ flower for weeks or ideally months on end (for example: salvias) 4/ be drought-tolerant (for example: sedums) or, in the case of the Kew Gardens rose that you see here, 5/ flower twice or even three times a year. I've planted four of these plants to create a mini-hedge and, as I've written before, it's an ideal plant if you've got babies because they're thornless. So far, it has been a very well-behaved and low-maintenance rose. This is year two, and I've only fed it once (when I planted it) and I haven't watered it since the summer of 2017. No mildew, no blackspot, no nothing. Its leaves get shredded every now and then by hungry caterpillars, but I don't mind too much because BUTTERFLIES (or moths) and it's never had a negative impact on the plant as a whole. What a trooper. Plus: it flowers loads. This year it flowered for the first time in early June, but then I went away for two weeks so wasn't able to do any deadheading which resulted in a bit of a lull in flower production. Now, though, it is back. Pretty innit:

Bonus bug at 12 o'clock. Pic taken August 7, 2018

I love that the buds are a peach colour, and that they fade to white when they open. Pic taken August 7, 2018

I never thought, not in a million years, that I'd meet so many dahlias

Something about this pic doesn't make sense, but I dig it anyway. The way the sun catches the two flowers is kinda magical. I like the slight imperfection of the hole in the petal at 9 o'clock on the flower in the foreground. I like how that flower looks sun washed and sort of vintage. I like that flowers are pointing in completely different directions, just trying to drink up the sun's tasty rays as best as they can. And I like the single-flowered dahlias much more than the flouncier pom pom varieties. I just find them easier to look at. A bit more minimalist. Less shouty. And bees like them more too, which I am absolutely down with. This is a Bishop of Llandaff dahlia, which is very much a mainstream dahlia, and you can see why, can you not. I haven't fed it at all, but it's enjoyed its sheltered spot in a terracotta pot against a north-facing white wall and is flowering well. I haven't done any scientific experiments, so I have no proof, but I reckon the plant has been getting extra heat from the sun reflecting off the white paint. I had to buy this plant new this year because I left my 2017 BoL outside in a terracotta pot over the winter and it rotted away. Silly aren't I. That was good though, mingling with grasses and nasturtiums, look:

Last year's one was a lot more upright, for some reason. I've had to use two little bamboo canes and some string to keep this year's one from flopping over. Could be because the plant is bigger (it's in a bigger pot) and therefore heavier. Could be because the plant has no other plants surrounding it to act as a support. Could be, I suppose, because I haven't fed it, and so it's not strong enough to hold its own weight. I'm honestly not sure.

JULY

July 29, 2018 by tom howard

Picture this

Been very quiet on here throughout July, for a number of reasons, so to make up for it here's a picture dump with some brief explainers. Normal serviced to be resumed in August, probably.

Put this clematis in a pot, in fairly deep shade, and it did nothing. Lifted it out, moved it to a pot in light shade, and it did this. A 'right plant, right place' lesson if ever there was one.

Round two of flowering for the Rosa Kew Gardens hedge. Bought this variety of hedging rose because of the promise of continuous flower, and also because it's thornless, which is ideal when you have young children who like touching and eating every single thing on earth.

Didn't water the sunflower enough did I.

A pepper! Mad! Planted underneath the tomatoes. Been very slow to get going, but has perked up considerably in the plus-30 degree heat.

Nothing in my garden has enjoyed the extreme heat and sunshine as much as this Agapanthus White Heaven. It's never flowered before (this is its third year), and I couldn't love it more.

Interestingly, and frustratingly, the Agastache Black Adder in the foreground here is not nearly as good as last year. My Dad reckons it's because I haven't added enough organic matter to the soil, and yeah maybe. Still, looks nice in front of this Persicaria Firetail doesn't it, and I'm not sure I have a plant in my garden that is more beloved by bees.

Persicaria Firetail from a different angle, with Calamagrostis Karl Foester looking regal behind it.

Canna flower antlers, late afternoon London sky.

Hydrangea Annabelle growing in a pot and resting its heavy pom poms on a Mahonia my gran gave me. Nice mingling.

Cheeky little lily. Hadn't noticed it was even growing until it popped open. What a magnificent frame the variety of greens surrounding it make.

Looks like a jellyfish, is actually an echinacea. This is its first year in a very hot and very dry border in the front garden, and it's very happy indeed.

Bought some yarrow and a Veronicastrum Viriginica Pink Glow and Hampton Court. The white of both of them shows up nicely against the dark green background of the ivy, don't you think. (Not sure why the pink glow doesn't have a, er, Pink Glow, but there you go.)

Being able to successfully grow tomatoes outside every year is, without doubt, one of the best things about gardening in London. I've done it three years in a row now, and they've never had blight or failed to ripen in time. Maybe I am a genius? Nah! These are Chocolate Cherry growing up an east-facing fence. They've been living the absolute dream in the heatwave.

One shot of Piet Oudolf's garden at this year's Hampton Court flower show. Better than all the show gardens, if you ask me. These eryngiums took my fancy.

JUNE

June 05, 2018 by tom howard

Verbena verbena, gal where you been so long?

When I first started planning the grassy bit of the garden - which currently features 20 or so Calamagrostis Karl Foerster baking happily away in the hot London summer - all I really wanted was to be able to take pictures of some Verbena Bonariensis mingling happily with it, like an empty carton of Ribena in a wheat field. And here we have it. There's something very enticing about a flower that's hidden from view a little, like it's being coy. I love the way using grasses allows you to be subtle with colour, and have splashes of it in there like it's a special treat, rather than there being an abundance of it. Too much colour can get a little garish if you ask me. These verbena are self-seeded, as most of the successful verbena in my garden seem to be (the ones I plant in a specific place tend to die after one year). Self-seeding plants that die after a year and then pop up somewhere else the following year are, I'm sure you'll agree, the most convincing evidence I've ever seen that there is an afterlife. A side note about self-seeding Verbena Bonariensis: in my front garden they have managed to breach the boundaries, and are sprouting from cracks in the pavement all along the road I live on. I consider this a great achievement, and one day I hope I'm remembered as the guy who helped the London Borough of Lewisham become the Verbena Bonariensis capital of the world.

Jesus don't want me for a sunflower

Grew this magnificent, rusty, slightly bedraggled monster from seed, and look at it now. I've only ever grown small things from seed, really - nasturtiums, sweet peas, garden peas, carrots, spring onions, wild flowers - so I feel like I've entered a brave new world. I always mean to grow more things from seed, and I admire the dedication and frugality of people who do, but you need space and time for that sort of thing. Anyway, Velvet Queen is the name of this guy (I didn't choose it, it came free with an issue of Gardeners' World magazine). It's in a pot, and it was one of four, but the others all got ravaged by snails or snapped by wind. But this one has made it, and gets to bask in the sun on a daily basis as a reward. I kind of thought my kids would be at least a tiny bit interested in this flower, given that it's big and orange and exactly the flower you get in every drawing of every garden in every book for children. But no.

Bee in phlomis

You can hear what this bee is thinking, and this bee is thinking: "YUMMY".

View from the porch door

I planted this Persicaria Polymorpha after reading Dan Pearson's advice that planting a big plant in a small space can be exciting. He's right! This is the PP's second year in this position, and I reckon it's doubled in size for this summer. I really love it. I love how imposing it is, I love the flower spikes, and I love how it guards the door like a dog, or a bouncer. I love how good a job it does of bringing the outside in. It's like it's knocking on the door, trying to get through. I also love how you have to interact with it to leave the house, or come into the house. You cannot ignore it. You have to engage with it, even just to push it out the way. It doesn't smell, which is a shame by a doorway, but the Non Climbing Climber rose is on the other stuff and that whiffs something special, so it's okay. I'll be honest - the angle of this pic makes it look sliiiiightly more imposing than it actually is, but only slightly. Here's the truth (NCC visible on the right there):

This pic's not as good. Pic taken June 7 2018.

I call this one: red geum in front of black bin

Geum, bin, cardboard box. Pic taken June 7, 2018

I didn't think it was possible for anything to make this bin look good, but here we are. The red of the geum actually looks really great against the black of the bin, doesn't it. An absolutely classic colour combination of course, and I'd love to claim to have planned it, but it's a very happy accident. This geum, by the way, came from my Dad (so I don't know the name). It lived in a small crate for a few years, then I split it into four last autumn. One died, one's in a pot, one's in a raised bed, and this one is in the ground. This one's the best by miles. It has the most flowers, strong stems that don't flop in the slightest, and it's been in flowers for weeks already. Dead pleased with it. I've actually planted a nice yellow Geum Lady Stratheden next to it, but the joy of that colour clash perhaps won't arrive until next year.

Canna get you out of my head

On a date in Elephant And Castle with a canna lily. Pic taken: June 2, 2018 — On a date in Elephant And Castle with a canna lily. Pic taken: June 2, 2018

Sometimes it feels like fate when you end up in possession of certain plants. It's not, of course, because fate is nonsense. But it feels like that. If only for a minute. At any given time I have a list of plants in my head that I want but for whatever reason haven't got round to buying yet. Then, when I end up in a place where the exact thing I've been lusting after is for sale, I have no choice but to purchase. Last weekend, on Saturday June 2, I did an Urban Gardening course at Walworth Garden in Southwark, and very good it was too (more to come on this at a later date). The garden operates as a charity, helping people in the local area with horticultural training and therapy, and since current CEO and head gardener Oli has been in charge, it's been operating as a garden centre too. This canna lily was on sale for £10, so I went and bloody bought it didn't I. As you can see from the pic I took it to the pub for a pint of cider, and we had a highly productive chat about exactly what I am expecting from it in the garden. Mostly: garish colour. Excellently, the lady who served me the booze was well into the plant and stroked the red leaves like they were a dog's ears. Once it gets going the flowers will be bright orange, and I'm gonna stick it in a pot on a shelf on a north facing wall that's been painted white, alongside some dahlias, salvias and grasses (also in pots) and see what happens. I am anticipating great vibes.

W/C May 21: a climbing hydrangea, a marigold, a peony, some bonus pics

May 30, 2018 by tom howard

Taking off like fireworks

For reasons that I am completely oblivious to, this is the only flowerhead on my Hydrangea Petiolaris this year. There were definitely more last year. The only difference in its conditions between then and now is its close proximity to the Clematis Montana. Maybe this steals all the nutrients? Maybe this blocks all the sun? Not sure. The plant is happy, and slowly expanding in size, so I shan't be calling 999 just yet, but I'm keeping a beady eye on its flower productivity. Wisdom has it that these plants are slow to establish, but once they do they go absolutely bananas. This is its second year in this position (started life in a pot by the back door, but this era was short-lived) and I am now ready for the bananas phase. I want the green fence its clinging to covered. I want it to resemble the finale of a particularly lavish Glastonbury headline set, with those lacecap flowerheads popping off like fireworks all over the place. Soon please.

One colour picture all in a row, of a marigold

I like this guy, this guy is cool. This guy lives in a raised bed with four tomato plants, and two pepper plants. This guy's job is to stop things called root-knot nematodes from decking the tomato plants and making them sad. Everyone seems happy so I think things are going okay. And look how orange this guy is! Obnoxiously so. I love it.

Life can be sometimes ridiculous

Peony's are aaaaaaabsolutely ridiculous. So showy and flouncy and impractical. Any plant that grows a flower that's too heavy for itself to hold is, basically, a total idiot. I did actually stake this to try and support the weight, but I'm not sure my angles were correct, and as a result these giant pink clouds have been flopping all over the place. This is year three for this peony (not sure on the name, another cutting from my dad). Year one: no flowers. Year two: some flowers. Year three: the most so far. Handsome.

Some pictures with no accompanying words, just because this last week has been so pretty

What is this? I have no idea! Pic taken May 26, 2018

Patricia, my second favourite geranium. Oh you'll find out what my favourite is soon enough, don't you worry about that. Pic taken May 22, 2018 — Patricia, my second favourite geranium. Oh you'll find out what my favourite is soon enough, don't you worry about that. Pic taken May 22, 2018

W/C May 14: 21 alliums, apples, bees, an iris

May 21, 2018 by tom howard

Which one's your fave?

All 21 Allium Purple Sensation pics taken on May 17, 2018

Last October, in a bid to quite simply copy what Monty Don has done in his Jewel Garden at Longmeadow, I pumped the garden full of Allium Purple Sensation. He has what looks like 100s of these, but he a has a lot of space. I found it a bit of a struggle to squeeze in 21, but I'm well pleased with how they've turned out. I will, I reckon, be able to get a few more in this year. I've split them between the front and back garden, and I love the way they're all a bit different: inconsistent shades of purple, differences in flower head size, some much further ahead with the flowering than others. I also love how they're all dealing with slightly different conditions. One or two of them are having to battle their way through a bushy rose that is putting on loads of new growth every day. Others have a similar issue with a boisterous Persicaria Polymorpha. Others are having the time of their lives in full sun, in a nice open space. It's not fair really. There's something about alliums, though. The way they hover like some kind of spacecraft is mesmerising. And they sort of don't make sense to look at. The stems are long and thing, but obviously stronger than they appear because they manage to balance to balance these big purple pom poms with no drama whatsoever. My favourite bulb, easily. Here are some of the 21 in situ:

Alliums with an in-bloom geranium I don't know the name of, a yet-to-bloom rose I don't know the name of and a Persicaria Polymorpha in the background. Pic taken on May 18, 2018

Alliums with a Welsh poppy and a couple of geraniums. Pic taken May 18, 2018

Apples of my eye

Been on a bit of a journey with this apple tree. Bought it, three years ago, as a patio fruit tree to go in a pot, but it didn't like that. Possibly because the pot was too small, possibly because I didn't water it enough, possibly both, possibly because it was just a young tree. Transferred it into the ground about two years ago, but it's taken a while to get going. I honestly can't remember if there were any apples on it in 2016, but last year there was... ONE. It was quite big but, y'know, ONE. Sad. This year, though, the blossom on the tree was great, and there are dozens of tiny little apples forming. Here's how the blossom looked a month ago:

It's very satisfying when a tree hits its stride, and nice tangible proof that you've given it a good life. I'm fairly confident - because it's a patio tree - that it will never get too big for the garden. And now that it's happy, there should be loads of fruit every year. I'll do some kind of taste test in the autumn. Exciting!

Loadsa bees

This is Olive. She is my daughter. She is two. She is cool. Here, she is having a great time watching some bees, and describing the scene in great detail.

"Another bee!"

99% sure she's a genius.

A fabulous beard

Just this second realised I didn't include the allium in the bottom left hand corner of this pic, or the one out of shot next to it, in the great allium count. Don't tell anyone. Pic taken May 21 — Just this second realised I didn't include the allium in the bottom left hand corner of this pic, or the one out of shot next to it, in the great allium count. Don't tell anyone. Pic taken May 21

Two years ago my Dad gave me a clump of the bearded Iris Braithwaite. I plonked it at the base of the wisteria, because it gets super hot down there, and those guys are getting on great. The flowers on the Iris are quite ridiculous really, all showy like plumage on a bird. Mostly I like simple flowers, and anything too complicated makes my brain hurt. But I like the beard on these, even though it quite clearly looks more like a tongue than a beard. And I like that the yellow bit looks like A/ a caterpillar B/ the meat you get in a sea urchin. Ever eaten that stuff, with spaghetti, in Italy? You definitely should. I sent this picture to my friend, and it reminded her of the art of Georgia O'Keeffe. What she means is: it looks rude.

W/C May 7: clematis, wisteria, strawberries

May 14, 2018 by tom howard

A magnificent Montana

Mingling with the climbing hydrangea. Note to self: put something in this pot. Pic taken May 8, 2018

My garden is too small for a Clematis Montana really, but I decided I didn't care because I really wanted something that would cover this arch quickly. Maybe in a few years I'll regret planting a Montana Grandiflora when it won't stop growing, but for now I am okay with how rampant it is. If it does feel out of control at any point I'll cut it back to ground level and start again. It's only in year two, which seems wild given how big it is, and pleasingly it's already doing exactly what it's supposed to be doing: providing a cascade of these highly delightful white flowers from mid-late spring. And not only is it covering the arch it's planted under, it's making it along a nearby fence or two as well. This thing really takes care of business. I bought this plant impulsively at a garden centre so sort-of-accidentally bought one with a very mild scent, which I sliiiiightly regret. I love it a lot, but I'd love it even more if it was pungent. On the other side of the arch is a rose called Iceberg, growing with a honeysuckle (name unknown) given to me by my Dad as a cutting (this is why the name is unknown). The idea is that as the Montana fades these will start to come out, and the honeysuckle will fill this bit of the garden with a delightful pong.

A wisteria that won't flower

Wisteria on the left, Rosa Banksiae Lutea on the right. Pic taken May 13, 2018

Look at it. So luxurious and luscious and happy to be there. So immaculately pruned and tied in. So ridiculously vigorous you wonder, sometimes, if one day it'll pull the front of the house off. Hopefully not! But it does not flower, even now in it's fourth year on this wall. I think, having read up extensively on the delicate art that is caring for a wisteria, it's because it's not a grafted plant. I'm not 100% sure, as it was a gift, but there's no grafting mark on the stem, so at this stage I reckon it was grown from seed. And as we all know, it's the ones grown from seed that can take an extremely long time to flower. 20 years. 25 years. It's possible I'll never know. I still love it though. I love how it just totally greenifies the front of the house. I love how much it enjoys basking in the baking sunshine all summer. I actually love how high maintenance it is. I prune it, I reckon, four times a year (three summer prunes, one winter), because it puts on a preposterous amount of new growth, and the space I'm growing it in is quite small, so it can get quite untidy quite quickly. I also love it because I broke some rules when planting it. I put it in the ground quite close to the house, not the foot or so away that is recommended so it doesn't dry out and such like, and it's thrived anyway. (Fingers crossed its roots aren't eating through the foundations as I type). It's epic. Quite a humbling plant, I think. So big and wild. When it flowers I will probably pass out. Or just move house.

Seven strawberries

Special shoutout to the photobombing ant. Pic taken May 10, 2018

I like growing fruit and veg, mostly because it’s highly wholesome and deeply pure, but there are some things that maybe aren’t really worth it unless you have a big garden. Like, these strawberries. If I had 20 of these strawberry plants, and each of them produced 10 fruits, I would then have (counts fingers) 200 strawberries to enjoy over, perhaps, a couple of weeks. Eat them raw. Put them on a tart. Make ice cream. Give them to my one-year-old to taste, dislike, then throw on the floor. Whatever! I just have one plant, though, because I don’t have space for any more. But let me tell you: I will pick and eat every single one of these seven fruits with gusto. Raw, I imagine, for maximum purity.

Dan Pearson - what a hero

For one component of the Diploma in Garden Design I'm doing, I had to write about a picture of a garden "with which you feel you identify". I chose the above pic of many-award-winning garden designer Dan Pearson's old garden in Peckham, south east London, and wrote this:

This is one of many pictures from Dan Pearson’s book Home Ground: Sanctuary In The City with which I identify. The book as a whole is something of a bible to me. It documents his transformation of a small/medium sized garden in Peckham in south east London, which is exactly what I’ve been trying to do for the last three years with my own garden.

I love how dense his planting is, and how wild his garden seems, even though it is meticulously tended to and kept under extremely tight control. In this particular picture I love how everything that’s in flower has been planted en masse, so you get these large swathes of colour running through the border. I love that the colours in the foreground have been restricted to red and yellow - the colours of summer, of the colours of an especially ice cool long drink.

It’s also highly effective that this shock of colour has been planted in front of lots of very big, green plants that provide a backdrop to the strong colours, and also give depth to the border. The border looks gigantic, even though it is actually quite modest. There are also deep greens in the shady distance, nearer the house, which almost create the illusion of rolling hills. It’s great, though, that in the top left hand corner you get a clue as to where you actually are from the glimpse of terraced housing and the washing line pole.

I feel like I can hear this picture as I look at it, especially the bees going about their business among the day lilies and the birds in the trees on the other side of the decking. It looks warm enough for there to be crickets chirping. It’s also amazing how the Hemerocallis ‘Stafford’, in particular, looks like it’s arching its neck so it can drink the sun as it beats down onto the plants. And I love how you can tell how the plants would gently sway when kissed by a mild breeze.

The chair in the shade of the hornbeam is a nice touch. That area looks like a sort of viewing platform, from which you can watch the spectacular performance occurring in the border opposite. It looks like the perfect place to sit for a bit on what looks like a baking hot day.

W/C Apr 30: a rose, a camellia, a knot garden, erigeron

May 09, 2018 by tom howard

A nice frothy Rosa Banksiae Lutea

This beast is in its third year on the front of the house now. It's a south-facing wall, so the plant gets absolutely baked all summer long, which by the looks of it, it seems to enjoy. It got quite bad mildew towards the end of last summer, especially at the top of the plant, so I pruned a load of the diseased bits out to try and persuade it to put on some healthy new growth. Totally worked. Currently the leaves and stems are vivid and luscious and the flowers create this magnificent sunshine froth. The idea is for the rose to completely dominate the right-hand side of the house, to smother the bit of roof above the front door, to surround the bedroom window, and to just look absolutely epic hanging off the house every spring. I want it to get massive so it creates a real impact. The yellow on the white render on the house looks banging, and when my wisteria eventually flowers in 2037 or something, they're gonna put on quite a show. There's another rose to the right of the Banksiae, which isn't as vigorous but should, I hope, get big enough to go across the top of the door this year and mingle with it. I don't know what rose it is, but it was a cutting from my Dad and has been nicknamed The Non-Climbing Climber because of its initial reluctance to do what it was supposed to do. It's pink, and smells good, and should come into full bloom just as the RBL is beginning to fade. It then tends to flower until October / November, which is decent.

A rotting camellia flower

Quite cool I think. Looks like past-its-best confetti, or like it's been stained by a teabag. I like how the flowers of this Camellia Japonica Nuccio's Jewel cling on until the bitter end. Their life will end, of course, on the compost heap.

A knot garden

I've started doing a part-time Diploma in Garden Design at the British Academy Of Garden Design, and one of the things I had to do for my first assignment was draw a sketch of a traditional English knot garden. For some reason I decided it would be good to base the design around the shape of the pentagram, which naturally led to there being a coffin-shaped water feature in the middle of the garden. I reckon this would be quite cool in, say, Ozzy Osbourne's back garden. I think occultist man Aleister Crowley would appreciate the vibes too.

An erigeron which will not self seed

Look at it, the bastard. The garden is full of nooks and crannies and gaps and cracks and holes, all of which would be a perfect home for a self-seeded Mexican fleabane. But no. People avoid this plant because, they say, it gets everywhere. But no. The whole point of this plant is that it will slowly but surely start to dominate whichever area it gets planted in. But no. Nice that it's out though. I look forward to seeing it in flower for the next six months. (And I've actually bought two more, as plugs, to dot around the garden and surely SURELY activate some self-seeding magic.)