A Warm Glow all over

Yep, it’s me your familiar grumpy old churl full of happiness and bonhomie, so those of you wanting misanthropy and waspiness, turn away now.

This blog has been inspired as usual by Chelsea, the same day we received two e-mails congratulating us on our service, packaging and the quality of plants, we also received news that two of our clients had won “golds”. One admittedly with the smallest plant that I have ever sold, but as she graciously said, it is the detail that counts. In fact both clients were absolutely charming, unlike some designers and builders who become distinctly ratty under the stress. Otherwise, as far as the telly presentation was concerned, it was the same old mix as before, the quirky presenter with the Yorkshire accent from Hampshire, the dancer, the hyper-active one waving her arms around more than ever and the baldy one who seems to have no purpose other than to act as a foil for the “spontaneous”  joshing of the quirky one. All burbled on about this year’s “trends”, - edibles and blue colours for those who could give a toss. OK, I know that commentators have gone on about trends ever since Decimus Magnus Ausonius complained about the new walls in the Moselle valley ruining his views in the fourth century AD,  but reactionary that I am, I increasingly dislike  the “trendiness” in gardening,  which has brought us hideous cultivars devoid of nectar and scent and are thus environmentally hostile.  When I was young, plastic flowers were mocked as the ultimate in bad taste, now horticulturalists seem hell bent on breeding cultivars that look and smell like plastic.  Try telling that to the D-list “celebrities”  who witter on about being “green” and have these loathsome monstrosities named after them. (and no, obviously I don’t count the wondrous Helen Mirren and her pitcher plant amongst these)  As usual the Beeb showed us an endless parade of these “personalities”, but without subtitles, so I guessed the first one was Lady Gaga, then the second and then the third, when it occurred to me that I had no more idea of what Lady Gaga looks like than any of the other vacuous over-painted faces. I would be ashamed of myself if I had recognised any of them.  On trendy designs, Bunny Guinness had an interesting one partially designed to be viewed from above, a technique which has been knocking around ever since the Islamic conquest of Spain and probably long before that. In it, she also  incorporated curvy woven willow raised rose beds, like those which appear in every medieval garden illustration. She said the “judges didn’t get it”  I am not sure what this tells us about the judges, but it left me with an uncomfortable feeling that a millennium of historical garden techniques are no longer welcome even if used in a contemporary setting. With such a view point, I suppose it is predictable that my favourite was Cleve West’s, which, since it brought to mind Cyriac D’Ancona’s 1436 visit to the ruins of Athens, made me glad  that the judges “got it” in this instance. One small mercy perhaps and another was that the television producers didn’t inflict the usual deafening and inappropriate music on us.   

Fearing that they wouldn’t manage to keep it bottled up for the entire week, I watched Prince Charles on Parry on BBC 4 instead and very good it was too. Parry’s father’s Gloucestershire church was Victorian flamboyance at its best, as mind-boggling as Castel Coch. This is my link to the royal wedding, Parry having written the “I was glad” anthem which opened the ceremony. Like the rest of the nation my initial cynicism was overwhelmed with what one might describe as the impeccable “design values” and the beauty of the Middletons themselves.  In amongst all the imperial splendour, the “ugly princesses” provided a sop to those of a republican bent. The Blair years have already given us an unpleasant taste of what life might be like under a president and so I am happy to remain a monarchist. I received a number of slightly envious e-mails from across the Atlantic congratulating us Brits on putting on such an excellent show. In fact I personally had no connection with the wedding whatsoever except that I went to the school that was established to provide choristers for the church in which Duchess Kate was christened. In contrast with Thomas Gambier Parry’s church, it was singularly hideous and reminiscent of a Victorian railway booking hall.  The school possessed a reconstructed Greek theatre built in a chalk pit. The impact on a thirteen year old of  unexpectedly coming across it for the first time was powerful to say the least and it has left me with an affection for Aeschylus ever since. Now elfnsafety have condemned the “temple” and it is to be replaced by something that looks like a mock-up from an urban warfare  assault course. It is to have a Sedum roof, something we are well equipped to provide but the school didn’t reply to my (admittedly not terribly constructive)  comments about the design so they will have to go to the excellent Kernock plants for their sedums instead. Good luck to them,  Clytemnestra taking an axe to Agamemnon’s skull in something resembling Chateau Tellytubby will not be the same as doing it in the  rehashed Epidaurus of  happy memories

Since this is a shimmeringly benign blog  replete with summer delights, my final pleasure is sitting in a deckchair on my sun-trap deck with a bottle of cold wine and a well written book about anything except herbs. “Liberty’s exiles” is my recommendation for today. That and Danielle De Niese, - proper music’s answer to Beyoncé for those sad ones that don’t know, singing “Endless Pleasure, Endless Love….” loud enough to prevent the cats sticking their noses into my glass. You can get the book and the record from Amazon and there is an Amazon associates link on our web site. No one has bought anything off it in years but there’s a first time for everything.