I write this post, naked from the waist up, basking in the sun at The Watch House. It’s not a pretty sight, but only I can see it. Beyond the garden gate bodies of all shapes and sizes litter the beach, reclining on vast towels, shielded from their neighbours by gaudy windbreaks despite there being no wind. Here in my little haven I am spared the sight of lobster-coloured flesh, but still get to enjoy the heated and very public disputes all families seem obliged to have on their way back to the car. Sometimes they even stop in the street outside so that I can enjoy several minutes of their impassioned performance. The roles are always the same – screaming mother, obstinate, unsympathetic father and wailing child / children. Occasionally there may be a cameo role for a pacifying grandparent or disinterested dog. I marvel at how indecision over where to consume fish and chips can cause such monumental rifts in a family, but we’ve all been there. That’s the heat for you: it makes us tired and teasy.

I have not been immune to the effects of the heatwave. I slept very poorly every night last week, not helped by an overnight stay at a hotel where I was compelled to sleep with the door open just to get some air moving through. I can’t decide whether it was the impact of the heat on others or on me that caused me to be uncharacteristically short-tempered at work, but I was relieved when it came to Friday and I could work from home. Even the drilling and chattering of the electricians putting my chandeliers up could not put me in a bad mood. Although the temperature has increased daily, my good humour is restored, for now at least.

It is nowhere near as warm in Broadstairs as it is inland, yet it’s still quite warm enough for me. I have been trying to clear the workshop so that the electricians can bring power through from the house next week. It’s a job that needs to be done ahead of my open weekend so that we have somewhere to plug the tea urn in. Facing due south the workshop heats up like a brick-kiln during the day and holds the warmth overnight, so there is no good time to tackle it. Serves me right for packing it full of stuff that ought to have been dealt with at the time. Just as I was looking my most hot and flustered who should pop her head round the door other than Torrington Tina and her husband, all the way from sunny Devon. Despite regular encounters in the blogosphere we had never met before. It was fantastic to finally be able to put a face to a name. I was soaking my airplants in a bucket of water, the horticultural equivalent of drying my Y-Fronts on the washing line, so I made my apologies and went on with an impromptu tour.

During this warm, dry weather the garden needs watering every other day. Even in my tiny garden that’s a three-hour job if I do it properly, longer if I am feeding as well, which I am tonight. On a weekday that means I must spend the entire evening with a watering can in my hand. Despite the time commitment, I find watering incredibly therapeutic. It’s a great opportunity to really look at the detail of your garden and make adjustments as you go. The downside, as you may have noticed, is that I’ve had very little time to keep this blog updated. I have ideas for new posts coming out of my ears, but they must wait. At times like these one must live in the moment, enjoy the wonderful weather and do what your garden demands of you.

Blessed with long, sunny days the plants have gone bananas; even the bananas have gone bananas! Both gardens are looking so good I could open tomorrow and feel reasonably content with what I have achieved. With another five weeks growing time ahead, I am starting to wonder how I’ll actually fit anyone in come August. Flowers are just starting to appear in numbers, starting with Lilium ‘Pink Flavour’ and Dahlia ‘Totally Tangerine’. I’ve already spied flower spikes forming on Hedychium yunnanense, which is extraordinarily early for a ginger to be producing flowers outside. Just for now I am happy to wait and enjoy this period of green anticipation.

First thing tomorrow I set off for the Hampton Court Palace Flower Show, where once again I will be assessing the trade stands for the RHS. I would love to avail you of my thoughts on what I am going to see, but alas I’ve not so much as looked at the website, or my instructions, so it will be a pleasant surprise for us both. If you are there on Tuesday and spot a man with oranges printed on his short-sleeved shirt, that will probably be me. Do say hello. If it is not, you’ll have met a man with fabulous taste anyway.

Whilst I am posting less frequently I am continuing to update other forms of social media regularly, so do give me a follow on Facebook or on Instagram and you’ll be among the first to see what’s in store at the world’s largest (and possibly hottest) flower show. I shall also be making more short films and posting them to IGTV. In the meantime stay cool, keep your garden well watered (if you are permitted to) and try not to let the heat get you. TFG.

I am becoming predictable. Just as at Chelsea, it was a contemporary garden featuring a blast of vibrant yellow and a generous entertaining space that captured my imagination at Hampton Court. In spite of the tongue-twisting name (henceforth I shall refer to it simply as the Santa Rita Garden), this was one of the show’s stand-out gardens and one that I could easily have lifted and shifted into a place of my own. The Mediterranean style and drought-tolerant planting felt entirely ‘of the moment’, basking as it did beneath a flawless blue English sky.

Designed by Alan Rudden, the Santa Rita Garden enjoyed its first outing earlier this year at Dublin’s Bloom garden show where it went by the name ‘Life is Rosé‘. It won a gold medal in Éire and repeated that success on British soil last week, also picking up ‘Best World Garden‘ in the process. I am not sure how I feel about gardens being repeated at more than one show and hope this isn’t the start of a trend. I can certainly appreciate how reprising a design offers a sponsor more bang for their buck, whilst making good use of expensive plants and bespoke materials. If a garden is worthy of a gold medal I suppose it deserves the widest audience, but if taking a garden on tour were to become a routine exercise, I’d be disappointed.

For the Santa Rita Garden the sponsor’s brief was to create an outdoor living space in which to enjoy the brand’s wines in the company of friends. Santa Rita is based in Chile, which is a country possessed of a staggering range of climatic and geographic conditions. The estate producing the brand’s flagship wine, Casa Real, enjoys an arid, Mediterranean climate. Alan Rudden thoughtfully combined plants from around the dry temperate world to create a modern garden, although I didn’t pick up much of a South American vibe. Let’s be fashionable and call it fusion, appealing to anyone from California to Cape Town.

In a nod to Mexican architect Luis Barragán, four bold steel monoliths coated with yellow oxide were balanced in the body of the garden by seven pollarded strawberry trees (Arbutus unedo). These might have been considered ugly ducklings had they not possessed so much character, suggesting that the garden might have been made around them. This was clever touch, lending a sense of permanence to the plot. Gabions filled with a warm, pale stone offered some degree of compartmentalisation and the illusion of a level change. I like the idea of gabions but always wonder how they’d look after a few years in our damp, humid climate. Water featured in the form of an elongated yellow tank feeding a narrow rill, but this was quite understated and I’d like to have seen a larger expanse of water somewhere in the garden.

The planting stole the show for me, a complex tapestry of species chosen for their tolerance of dry conditions, if not their hardiness in the UK. Pittosporum tobira ‘Nanum’ (Japanese mock orange) is a superb shrub for a well-drained spot, producing neat mounds of glistening emerald-green foliage and white flowers when planted in the sun. It’s a great foil for blue flowers and silver foliage. Other favourite plants of mine included Tulbaghia violacea (society garlic), Senecio ‘Angel Wings’, Astelia chathamica (Maori flax) and Agapanthus africanus (African lily, both white and blue versions). A bevy of spikey plants were used to furnish a section of the garden resembling a dry river bed, including Yucca rostrata ‘Blue Swan’ (beaked yucca), Puya harmsii (a terrestrial Bromeliad from the Argentinian Andes), Agave gentryi ‘Jaws’ and Echinocactus grusonii (golden barrel cactus). The inclusion of several aromatic plants lent the whole garden a characteristically Mediterranean fragrance.

I would like there to have been more changes of level in this garden, as overall it felt too flat: perhaps a raised bed or a more generous water tank would have satisfied me. Although it would have been challenging to achieve on a level site, I think there could also have been more exaggerated mounding of the ground to create a pronounced stream bed with banks on either side. I do like to see an agave on a slope.

I am finding fault with a garden that was overall very good and that I liked a great deal, so I will search no further for improvements. There’s no doubt that the appearance and atmosphere of this garden was greatly enhanced by a blue sky and warm sunshine, making each element feel ‘just right’. Who would not have wanted to settle down and enjoy a bottle of perfectly chilled wine in this invigorating garden? As for the spikey plants, perhaps these were protection against anyone having one too many and trampling on the plants. Echinocactus grusonii is, after all, occasionally known as mother-in-law’s cushion. TFG.

Plant List

• Agapanthus africanus ‘White’
• Agapanthus africanus ‘Blue Storm’
• Agave americana
• Agave elodie
• Agave gentryi ‘Jaws’
• Agave parryi var. huachucensis
• Agave filifera ssp. schidigera ‘Shira ito no Ohi’
• Agave ovalifolia
• Agave sisalana
• Aloe spinosissima
• Arbutus unedo
• Armeria maritima ‘White Select’
• Butia armata
• Butia capitata
• Chamaerops humilis
• Echinocactus grusonii
• Elysium ‘Golden Jubilee’
• Euphorbia ‘Ascot Rainbow’
• Festuca glauca
• Salvia nemorosa ‘Caradonna’
• Salvia nemorosa ‘Ostfreisland’
• Salvia officinalis
• Santolina chamaecyparissus
• Sedum ‘Autumn Joy’
• Senecio ‘Angel Wings’
• Stachys byzantina
• Thymus vulgaris
• Tulbaghia violacea

Twenty days to go and the countdown to my NGS garden open weekend is well underway. In truth the garden does not need another twenty days to look its best; it’s there already. I am mildly concerned that it will peak too soon, but there’s no holding it back now. Recent weather has been exceptional, providing perfect conditions for the kind of plants I like to grow. Their rampant growth has been accelerated by copious watering and regular feeding, an ongoing labour of love during this heatwave. Many gingers, cannas and salvias are already well above head-height and producing wondrous flowers. Early clematis have been little short of spectacular. This weekend I will be staking and deadheading to maintain some semblance of order.

As for me, I do not feel ready at all: my ‘to do’ list is starting to keep me awake at night. Opening one’s garden, as anyone who’s done it knows, requires planning, elbow grease, nerves of steel and a great support network.

So what can you expect to find if you visit The Watch House on August 4th and 5th? There will be two gardens to enjoy this year; the Jungle Garden (top of post) and the Gin & Tonic Garden (above). Each one is a small courtyard measuring no more than 20ft x 30ft. Visitors will be welcomed in via the workshop, where, fingers crossed, I will have a handful of plants for sale and there will be delicious teas, of course.

The first section of the garden you’ll encounter is a narrow passageway dominated by a long wall of Trachelospermum jasminoides underplanted with ferns. The current proliferation of white flowers may be gone, along with their sensational fragrance, but the simple green corridor creates the perfect decompression zone between the harsh brightness of the street and the dappled profusion of the Jungle Garden. Returning visitors will recall this space is quite tight, and I can report it will be even tighter this year. My lack of restraint, combined with the best growing year I can recall*, means that there is barely room to swing a cat#. I make no apology for the cramped conditions as this is precisely the look I am aiming to achieve. My inspiration for this garden is a heady blend of Henri Rousseau’s avant-garden jungle scenes with the sounds and seclusion of a Marrakeshi riad. Gardens are, after all, a personal indulgence, and mine is very much so.

The main event in the Jungle Garden is foliage. Big, small, plain, variegated, filigree or frond-like, I rely on leaves to create structure, enclosure, drama, shade, interest and an overwhelming sense of immersion. Green is such an incredible colour, at once soothing and invigorating. Green is the colour of life and, like life, I can’t get enough of it. That said, I have been experimenting by introducing more variegated foliage plants, trying out several varieties of zonal pelargonium and coleus (solenostemon). I think the results are good, but I shall be interested in visitors’ reaction to these more extrovert additions. The garden is home to too many species and cultivars for me to list here, so I will be updating my plant list over the next couple of weeks in order that visitors can identify all that capture their imagination. What I hope people will take away is that much can be achieved in a very small space, if it suits you. I like that the tropical atmosphere is so unexpected in the centre of a busy, English, seaside town. This garden is especially magical on a warm night, when I can almost imagine I’m in the tropics, surrounded by exotic scents and unexplained sounds. For opening my hope is that the ginger flowers will be in their prime, along with dahlias, salvias and begonias. I am growing several new varieties of colocasia, including the lovely ‘Maui Gold’ which produces chartreuse-yellow leaves on ivory stems.

The Gin and Tonic Garden is accessed via a narrow path further up Thanet Road. This is a much sunnier garden, especially in summer, and is home to an eclectic mix of flora. So far it seems to suit plants from hotter, drier climes such as the Mediterranean, South Africa, the Canary Islands and Australia. Protected from easterly winds by the bulk of the house, there were many more winter survivors here than in the Jungle Garden, including the spectacular Geranium maderense which seeds itself freely here. The Gin & Tonic garden is a small but pretty space, demonstrating what can be achieved in just 12 months. I have bigger plans for this garden when my budget allows, including replacement of boundary fences and the introduction of columnar trees to screen the houses behind. Visitors will spy a specimen of Liquidambar styraciflua ‘Slender Silhouette’ which I am trialling to assess whether it could be the perfect candidate. In time, inspired by Islamic paradise gardens, I want to create a more formal, less cluttered layout. Such a plan would require the removal of my greenhouse, which will be painful since I have waited so long to get one.

If the weather is fine I will open the doors to the small garden room which is where I write. Beyond the garden room is my library, devoted almost entirely to books about plants and gardening. It’s incredible how many books have been published on these subjects and the shelves are filling up far faster than I anticipated. Alas, no time for reading during the summer months, so new arrivals will be perused later in the year.

Now that the heatwave is firmly entrenched I am keeping my fingers crossed that it doesn’t come to an end before my big weekend. If it does turn out fine and you are planning to visit, I’d recommend coming at the beginning or end of the 12pm-4pm period as it may get very busy indeed. Well behaved dogs are welcome but space in the garden is extremely limited, so perhaps leave your Rottweiler at home. The nearest parking is in the Crofts Place Car Park directly off the High Street, 30 yards away, otherwise it’s only a hop, skip and a jump from Broadstairs train station or the nearest Loop bus stop. If you’re a reader of this blog do come and say hello: I’ll be the one in the flowery shirt. And if you’re too far away to hear the beat of the jungle drums there will be a pre-opening video tour, I promise. TFG.

Five Facts about My garden

• The Watch House is not one house, but three. It is an amalgamation of numbers 3, 5 and 7 Thanet Road. The oldest part is 200 years old. Before there was a house here, this plot of land was an orchard belonging to one of the houses on the High Street.
• Beneath the Jungle Garden are vaulted undercrofts, which means there is no soil. What you are experiencing is basically a roof garden. Everything is planted either in containers or raised beds. Local legend has it that tunnels built by smugglers run from the undercrofts to the beach, although I have found no evidence of these. The name ‘The Watch House’ stems from the idea that smugglers kept watch over the English Channel from the top floor windows.
• The Jungle Garden was created ten years ago. Prior to that the garden comprised a bomb shelter, a range of privies and a large expanse of crazy paving. Nothing remains from that original layout, except the boundary walls.
• Frost is a rare occurrence in my garden, but we did not escape The Beast from the East which wiped out several tender plants and damaged others. There were days when I found myself sweeping up snow laced with sand and shells, such was the force of the wind off the sea. As you will see, all was not lost and there is very little evidence of the carnage four months on.
• Depending on their tenderness and growing habit, half-hardy plants are overwintered in the greenhouse (unheated), workshop (also unheated) or the garden room. A surprising number, including the rare Isoplexis sceptrum, make it through the winter without any protection, but benefit from low rainfall and extremely good drainage.

For more details about the opening, please visit the National Gardens Scheme website.

* since May at least!

# for this reason we will be asking that you leave large bags at the entrance.

As the heatwave drags on, my evenings are consumed by watering the garden. Already short, their length is reducing daily so that I am often found watering in the dark, a torch in one hand and a hose in the other. Normally there’s a glass of wine not far away to keep me going. All the time spent irrigating has impacted on three things – blogging, cleaning and sleeping. I am not doing enough of any of them and cleaning the house has ceased entirely. One cannot revive a dead plant, but one can vacuum up fluff any time: that’s the way I look at it anyway. Thank you for bearing with me whilst I am posting less frequently.

In the garden I am making last minute preparations for opening, layering in as much interest as I can and being more experimental than ever. Spurred on by the sustained heat I’ve had tremendous fun playing with true exotics such as tillandsias, bromeliads and anthuriums. These may not be so successful in cooler summers so I am making the most of the opportunity. I hope returning visitors will enjoy seeing something new this year. I never regard my garden as finished, particularly in the summer when plants can pass their peak relatively quickly. I go to my local garden centre every weekend and snap up plants as they are delivered from the nursery. Not only does this mean I get the pick of the crop, but the plants are fresh as a daisy too.

Last weekend I was delighted to pick up a hanging pot filled with a loose cloud of Asarina scandens (recently renamed Maurandya scandens), commonly known as the snapdragon vine. I did not need it at all, but I could not resist the waterfalls of violet flowers cascading from top to bottom. Annual climbers are great fun to grow because they are generally unfussy and eager to get going – Cobaea scandens (cup and saucer vine), Ipomoea lobata (Spanish flag) and Rhodochiton atrosanguineus (purple bell vine) are among my favourites and I grow them every year. They are best started from seed since bought plants tend to become tangled before you can get your hands on them. Annual climbers really come into their own later in the season when they can be used to scramble over plants which are past their best. All those listed have a hint of the exotic about them, which is perfect for my garden.

Having disappeared into obscurity, Asarina scandens is becoming popular again, with new varieties and seed strains appearing on the market. Sarah Raven sells a variety called ‘Violet’ and another named ‘Mystic Rose’. Thompson and Morgan’s ‘Jewel Mix’ will reward the grower with a mixture of indigo, purple, pinks and white blooms. Anyone craving a white-only strain might try Chiltern Seeds’ ‘Snowwhite’. Asarina scandens is a climber that will make its way up or along almost anything, as well as trailing effectively from a tall pot or hanging basket. The vine’s dainty foliage is perfect for smaller gardens or as a contrast to bigger leaves. Flowers are produced incessantly from an early stage in the plant’s development and will not stop until the first frosts. Asarina scandens is not frost-hardy so relocate to a conservatory, greenhouse or sunny window as winter approaches, or simply start again with fresh seed the next year.

Other than disliking root disturbance Asarina scandens places very few demands on the gardener other than needing regular watering. I’ve hung mine from an disused outdoor light fitting close to the front door, from where it will tumble down as well as scrambling through adjacent climbers. It would be dramatic grown through a wigwam of sticks or a conical support alongside a yellow-flowered Thunbergia alata (black-eyed Susan) or cascading over the edge of a lead planter with an orange fuchsia such as ‘Gartenmeister Bonstedt’ AGM. My plant catches some morning and midday sun, but otherwise enjoys bright shade.

Whilst it’s a little too late to start Asarina scandens from seed now (unless you are intending to grow it indoors through the winter) it’s well worth adding a pack of seed to your spring order. Your friends will thank you heartily for sharing any spares with them. TFG.

It was raining as we arrived at Hunting Brook; a light, steady drizzle filtering through opaque air. The lanes leading to the garden were bounded by sullen brambles and parched grasses, begging for relief from the heat and drought. Inside, thalictrums and fennels were spangled with water droplets, bowing gently beneath the unfamiliar weight. Rain in Ireland is not unexpected, but this summer it has been rare indeed. The shower, if you can call it that, lasted a couple of hours before dissolving into heavy humidity.

The first impression one gets of Hunting Brook is that this is a humble, country garden. There are no fancy gates or swanky signs, no tea room or entrance kiosk; just a small gravelled car park, a few handwritten chalkboards and a box to put your entry fee in. These uncomplicated arrangements remind me of many private gardens I have visited in Cornwall and are just how I like them; the garden should always be the main event. In a glade surrounding a small, chalet-style building unfolds an extraordinary garden. It is the creation of a remarkable plantsman, Jimi Blake, a man who carries his genius with endearing lightness.

I have written before about the difference between good gardens and great ones. Great gardens possess a series of qualities, some relatively easy to attain with hard work, talent and money. However atmosphere is a quality that requires both a sense of place and a gardener with imagination, vision and genuine understanding of what the land can achieve. To create atmosphere takes time and constant reappraisal. Hunting Brook has it in spades. I was immediately struck by a pervading sense of the primeval, at first suggested by a wonderful patch of Celmisia semicordata ‘David Shackleton’, a native of New Zealand, and then by a sweeping bank planted with Aralia echinocaulis raised from seed collected in China. Everywhere one looks there are plants which challenge the eye and the brain, conjuring up images of Jurassic forests and testing the identification skills of all but the most knowledgeable plant collector. Cryptomeria japonica ‘Araucaroides’ points its scaly green fingers towards you, as if it were saying ‘you there! Bet you don’t know what I am?’.

To suggest this is a merely a garden of curiosities would be quite wrong. Hunting Brook is a plantsman’s garden in every way, home to one of Ireland’s finest private botanical collections. It is also a highly experimental place. Jimi throws most gardening conventions to the wind, which is something only an experienced gardener can do. This confidence and adventurousness is what makes Hunting Brook so special. Everywhere one looks there’s an unexpected pairing, an unidentifiable plant, a coming together of colours that ought not to work, but yet they do. It’s a horticultural melting pot of ideas, and good ones at that. It is also beautiful, intriguing and romantic. Jimi gives himself space to develop his planting ideas, building their theatricality and richness through a constant process of addition and subtraction. If Hunting Brook were an ecosystem, it would be one of the most diverse on the planet.

I could attempt to describe Jimi’s planting schemes but I would not do them justice. I was so intent on listening to his gentle musings that I had little inclination to stop and take notes or photographs. Perhaps I shall regret this, but somehow I think not. Sometimes it’s better to be in the moment.

At the very least I should provide you with some kind of overview. Hunting Brook covers around 20 acres, 5 of which are garden, with the remainder being mature woodland or meadow. Near the entrance there are two gently sloping banks on either side of a gravel driveway. The shadier bank is dominated by the aforementioned aralias, underplanted with bamboos, ferns, ligularias, rheums, hardy geraniums, astrantias, astelias and alstroemerias, to name but a few. The opposite, sunny bank runs right up to the boundary hedge and is thickly planted with sun-loving plants from the common-or-garden calendula to not so common Aeonium hierrense. It’s a heady mix. Again, too many exciting plants to name them all. In the same bed you’ll discover Pseudopanax ‘Chainsaw’ (there are panaxes everywhere you look at Hunting Brook), Salvia lutea ‘Kirstenbosch’ and Musschia wollastonii alongside echinaceas, dahlias, salvias and linarias. Jimi is constantly adjusting the planting to achieve balance, different effects and to accommodate new plants. We quickly established that we shared a weakness for anything quirky or unusual. The colour scheme in this border is predominantly green, orange, apricot and smoky bronze, punctuated by flashes of white and silver.

Behind the house lies Ashley’s garden, created on the site of a former carpark. Again, this is a magical meeting of the familiar and unfamiliar, a freestyle swathe of planting where familiar phlox, sinister-looking Pseudopanax crassifolius and lush Musa ‘Tiger Stripes’ rub along as happily as can be. As the sun finally beats the rain into submission the rich magentas, purples, pinks and reds in this garden come alive, softened by a million water droplets.

A sheltered space at the back of Jimi’s house is known as the Garden Room, a small, gravelled rectangle bounded by some of the most exotic and exciting plants in the garden. My mind is so stuffed full of plant names by this stage that I fail to absorb most of what I’m told. Close by, Jimi is waiting for a large number of dahlias to bloom, all grown from seed collected in South and Central America. Both Jimi and his sister June are fans of these tall, single-flowered dahlias which are so much easier to combine with other plants than their fancier cousins.

The woodland garden is another world altogether and quite unexpected after the bright expanse of Ashley’s Garden. Here the narrow Hunting Brook, after which the garden is named, carves a deep valley, further accentuated by towering beech trees. Jimi has cleared an almighty glade in the centre of the wood allowing light to fall on an extensive collection of Scheffleras, large-leaved magnolias and other woody plants, many grown from wild-collected seed. We stop to discuss a gigantic and dangerous-looking thistle grown from seed collected in Tibet. Every plant seems to have a story attached to it. In another 10-20 years one can imagine this will begin to rival the likes of Heligan’s Jungle Garden, only it will have a Jimi Blake twist. The valley is not over cultivated, with just a few choice, large-leaved plants such as Gunnera killipiana, Zantedeschia ‘Hercules’, rheum and rogersia used to enhance the natural vegetation.

Emerging on the other side of the valley we emerge in a sloping 4-acre meadow with views across the fields to the Wicklow Mountains. A serpentine path is mown through the long grasses where soon butterfly orchids will bloom. A circular route takes us past a Bronze Age standing stone, a reminder of Hunting Brook’s ancient past, and then back through the valley to Jimi’s house. Here we stop for tea and biscuits and talk about people, plants and books. My kind of conversation.

Jimi Blake strikes me as a restless, generous and kindly man, quite unlike anyone I’ve met before. He is calm, yet energetic and easy to get along with. For me this visit to Hunting Brook was one of those special moments which has made me think long and hard about how I want to live and garden in future. It’s given me confidence in my efforts whilst spurring me on to try new things. On that basis we should all visit Hunting Brook at least once, notebook in hand, mind open to the infinite possibilities of gardening. TFG.

Jimi will be walking and talking with Monty Don at Longmeadow during this Friday’s edition of Gardeners’ World. Tune in to BBC2 at 8pm.

With special thanks to the wonderful Carol Marks for being my guide and companion, and for the best introduction to Irish gardens one could wish for.

Ten Key Plants in Jimi’s Garden during July

1. Calendula ‘Indian Prince’ – a favourite annual of Jimi’s, used extensively on the sunny bank.
2. Salvia argentea – a biennial or short-lived perennial with distinctive, felted, silver-grey leaves.
3. Linaria ‘Peachy’ – a lovely, frothy perennial with pale peach flowers and grey-green foliage.
4. Dahlia ‘Night Butterfly’ – an operatic collarette dahlia. Velvet-red outer petals surrounding a ruff of smaller white and magenta florets. Loved by bees.
5. Senecio christobalensis – one of two plants that came home in my hand luggage. Carries olive-green leaves the size of a dinner plate on furry red stems.
6. Alstroemeria ‘Orange Glory’ – a strong grower with deep orange petals adorned with purple markings at their tips.
7. Tagetes patula – not the dumpy, bedding marigold, but a tall plant with flowers the colour of burnished bronze.
8. Thalictrum ‘Elin’ – A giant of a thalictrum producing clouds of pink blossom that reach for the sky on stems up to 10ft tall.
9. Salvia patens ‘Guanajuato’ – a tuber-forming salvia with royal blue flowers and dark markings on the rough leaves. Drool-inducingly good with yellow dahlias.
10. Aeonium ‘Voodoo’ – somewhat similar to ‘Zwartkop’, which is the variety I grow at The Watch House. Blissfully easy to propagate.

Over the weekend we welcomed over 300 visitors to The Watch House, breaking records and surprising us all. At times it was a challenge to fit everyone in whilst offering an enjoyable experience in the garden, but there were no complaints, at least that I heard. On both days the sun shone, the birds sang and many plants were at their most splendid. I was content. It was wonderful to meet so many keen gardeners and admirers of gardens; many local, some having made trips from much farther afield. The friends who volunteered to make cakes, brew tea, wash up, sell tickets and answer questions did a sterling job. Even a tiny garden like mine requires six or more helpers to be able to open successfully with refreshments; I could not have done it without them. Other friends travelled down from London, Essex and Suffolk to see the garden, which was a wonderful surprise. Thank you to everyone for the tremendous support, encouragement and positive energy you bring with you.

I stationed myself in a corner by the sink where I could greet people on their way into the Jungle Garden. Visitors usually take a moment or two to adjust to the riot of colour and foliage that confronts them as they enter from the street. It’s unexpected, and deliberately so. Happily my star jasmine (Trachelospermum jasminoides) had clung onto a few last flowers, providing luxurious scent on arrival. As usual, a handful of plants attracted the lion’s share of the attention. The black rosettes of Aeonium ‘Zwartkop’ were commented on by many. Some had tried growing this handsome succulent before, with varying degrees of success. My advice was to plant in gritty compost (a large pot is not required as they make very little root) and to bring them indoors onto a sunny windowsill in the winter. Unless you live in South West Cornwall they are not hardy and should not be left to the mercy of the elements.

Salvia ‘Amistad’ was widely recognised. I am not surprised as it is an excellent plant and can therefore be found in every garden centre across the land. I have planted a lot of it this year, since the intensely purple flowers echo the tones of Asarina scandens ‘Violet’ and Petunia ‘Night Sky’. Even when one can’t repeat plants for lack of space, repetition of colour helps to hold everything together visually. I was delighted that the star of the show was Solenostemon (coleus) ‘Henna’, firstly because it was purchased locally from Broadstairs Garden Centre and secondly because I want people to think again about coleus. Far from being a plant consigned to the grave with your great aunt, they are superb plants, especially for a shaded courtyard garden. Coleus grow fast and take no prisoners when it comes to showy foliage. There are subtle ones and shouty ones, large-leaved and small-leaved ones; some are ferny, some are serrated. For me ‘Henna’ is the ultimate ‘flame nettle’ with sharply-toothed, Chartreuse-green leaves that are brownish-red on the reverse. Handsome indeed.

Some visitors were surprised to see plants such as anthurium, aechmea and philodendron growing outside. During a long, hot summer like this one they are perfectly happy outdoors, provided they are sheltered and out of direct sunlight. A single Gloriosa rothschildiana bloom caught many an eye, as did the pot of Egyptian papyrus (Cyperus papyrus) next to the sink. Both are easy and effective plants to grow for height in the late summer garden.

As for me, I was excited to witness dahlias ‘Nicholas’ and ‘Bacardi’ flowering for the first time this weekend: ‘Nicholas’ (below) is the perfect flower form and colour for my garden, and ‘Bacardi’ is promising too, with decadent flowers the colour of polished cherry wood.

Visitors are always flabbergasted that I grow everything in pots or containers. Although I do this out of necessity (there is no soil to plant in here, owing to the undercrofts below the garden) there is much to recommend this way of cultivating plants, especially tender ones. I will be writing more on this subject shortly, so keep your eyes peeled if this interests you.

I regret not spending any time talking to visitors in the Gin and Tonic Garden, although those requiring plants to be identified came back to the Jungle Garden with photographs on their phones. Naturally Dahlia ‘Firepot’ received a lot of attention as it’s looking splendid at the moment, positively smothered in flowers. Senecio ‘Angel Wings’ was a favourite for many because of its soft, velvety, ‘once touched, never forgotten’ leaves. For me it is still a curiosity rather than a nice plant; resembling a very posh silver cabbage. Another oddity, if I can call it that, is Cordyline ‘Pink Fantasy’, a plant which takes the dramatic variegation of C. ‘Torbay Dazzler’ to a new level …. by adding Barbie pink. This shocking colouration may become monstrous as it grows, but as a small plant it’s amusing as well as a talking point. I was pleased and flattered that some visitors noted there were colour groupings. I have tried hard at these as I believe they are the only way of justifying such an eclectic array of plants being in the same place at the same time.

The main thing with the Gin & Tonic Garden is that it’s somewhere to sit at the end of a day where I can enjoy pretty flowers and delicate fragrance. This is precisely what I am doing now. The Gin & Tonic Garden is not a ”designed’ garden in any sense. The fine weather meant that we could open up the garden room where Begonia ‘Martin Johnson’, Eucomis ‘Sparkling Burgundy’ and Tradescantia ‘Purple Sabre’ stole the show. This is where I write. Despite being unfinished decoratively, it’s a pleasing space to work in.

It’s my first year growing tomatoes at The Watch House and I am delighted with the results; they were much remarked upon. I have five varieties, including ‘Sungold’ and ‘Black Opal’, all of which are fruiting prolifically. I am thrilled as I adore tomatoes and will happily eat them with every meal.

I have yet to count the weekend’s takings, but will update this post as soon as I have. I’m expecting the total to be close to £1,400, which will all be donated to the National Gardens Scheme charities. If you were too far away to visit or otherwise engaged, I hope you enjoyed the little video I prepared pre-opening. As many visitors commented, it doesn’t do the garden justice, but I do believe it’s better than nothing. The Watch House will be opening again next year, on a date to be confirmed. In the meantime here are some of the most frequently asked questions and the answers to them:

1) How long does it to take you to water the garden?

During hot weather the each container needs watering every other day. I alternate between one garden and the other, taking about 1.5 hours each evening, longer if I am also feeding, which I do once a week. I prefer to use a watering can, but will use a hose in the Gin & Tonic Garden if I need to be quick. In the Jungle Garden there is a soaker hose hidden at the back of the raised beds to replace the water that’s drawn up by my trees. This works a treat, allowing me to grow bananas and colocasias in what would otherwise be dry shade.

2) How long have you had the garden?

I moved to The Watch House a little over 12 years ago and completed the build of the Jungle Garden 10 years ago. Nothing remains from the previous layout apart from the boundary lines and the basement railings. The garden has evolved significantly and is now more shaded and sheltered than it was originally. Pale walls reflect light, dark slate retains heat, and trees trap warm air inside the garden creating the perfect microclimate for tender plants.

The Gin & Tonic Garden was begun just over 12 months ago and is a work in progress.

3) What’s the name of the tree with the wonderful red bark?

In three words: Lyonothamnus floribundus ssp. aspleniifolius – Santa Cruz Ironwood if you find that easier to recall! This unusual tree comes from a series of rocky islands off the coast of mainland California. It is tolerant of poor, stony, well-drained soil, salt spray and wind. It has much more to recommend it than the peeling reddish bark. It also has ferny foliage and heads of white flowers like an achillea in mid summer.

4) Is this a jasmine / Is this an olive?

No! Don’t trust the common names of plants. I rarely use them as they are often highly misleading. The ‘jasmine’ being referred to was Trachelospermum jasminoides (star jasmine), which is closer in relation to a vinca or a plumeria (frangipani) than it is to a jasmine. Both Laurus nobilis ‘Angustifolia’ (narrow or willow-leaved bay) and Phillyrea latifolia (Japanese green olive) were mistaken for being olives (Olea europea). Neither are, but it’s an easy mistake to have made given the foliage and tree shape.

5) Where are the gingers then?

Despite there being over 55 flower spikes, my gingers were frequently missed, perhaps because the plants are so tall and leafy this year. Some gingers have flowered incredibly early this year, especially Hedychium yunannese, H. ‘Stephen’ and H. ‘Sorung’. Happily I have over 10 other varieties that haven’t flowered yet, so I have these to look forward to. ‘Tara’ is flowering now, and ‘Helen Dillon’ will follow. Sadly gingers do not bloom for long, but when they do, they are stunning and the fragrance intoxicating. TFG.

I’ll let you into a secret – I’m not very good at keeping secrets. When BBC Gardener’s World contacted me, quite out of the blue, I was a tiny bit sceptical. Sometimes these things naturally come to nothing and I didn’t want to build my hopes up. But before I knew it a date was confirmed, entered in the diary and I was sworn to secrecy until the film was ‘in the can’. In the days that followed I preened and primped my garden knowing that it wasn’t just for my NGS visitors, but also for the television cameras. I don’t mind admitting that I found keeping such an exciting secret both excruciating and impossible. I let the news slip to a few close friends and acquaintances, partly to explain why I was being even more fastidious about everything than usual. My restraint did, however, extend to keeping my secret away from any form of social media, for which I give myself a small pat on the back. Now it’s done I can spill the beans.

BBC researcher Yvonne and director Adrian travelled down on Tuesday night ready for an early start on Wednesday. Happily the workshop was already set up for my open weekend and so became the green room for a day. The Swan hot water urn I purchased three years ago is the most useful thing for occasions such as these, since all the best teams are fuelled by regular cups of tea and coffee. The cameraman drove up from Brighton and the sound engineer from nearby Faversham, completing a team of four. It’s many years since I’ve done any TV work and the equipment gets smaller and more advanced every time: just as well as my garden is so small.

(I took the photograph above when we were filming in Alan Tichmarsh’s Garden Secrets back in 2009. My, how the garden has grown over the last ten years! I have to admit that I do rather hanker after the days when the garden was more open. Perhaps one day it will be time to return to a more Mediterranean look. Down in the bottom right-hand corner you will also see a tiny sprig of Solenostemon ‘Gay’s Delight’, which is one of many I’d like to track down again.)

For the first three hours of filming I was required to sit on a chair and talk about the garden whilst looking into the Director’s eyes – all extremely pleasant experiences about which I had no qualms. The last time I sat down for that long was when my train got stuck in a snow drift in March. There was no presenter for this segment, so it was down to me to do the talking. Normally I find describing the garden the easiest thing in the world, but there’s something about a TV camera that scrambles your brain. I’m sure I said ‘lovely’, ‘exotic’, ‘lush’, ‘tropical’ and ‘enveloped’ far too many times. Most of my gormless repetition will be edited out, since we worked for 10 hours to create an ‘insert’ which will be just 5 minutes long in the end.

The whole day was meticulously organised and brilliantly scripted, although there was still flexibility to add a few impromptu scenes which we felt would be good on the day. I won’t give the game away by telling you what we filmed, but the general idea was to show viewers that it’s possible to cram a great deal into a small garden. I would hope I’ve instilled that message into you already if you read this blog regularly.

The size of my garden presented a real challenge when it came to filming. The cameraman used every trick in the book to get different angles and perspectives, which was fascinating to observe. Every window or table was used to create shots that conveyed a sense of enveloping jungliness (there I go again!). A small screen on-top of the camera allowed us to see what the cameraman was capturing. Of course, there’s no such thing as ‘film’ now, the programme is recorded on tiny memory cards that have travelled back to BBC Bristol on the train for editing. We filmed most segments three times using different lenses and camera positions. These will be cut together depending on what works best for the final version. Adrian the Director went to great lengths to make sure everything was done perfectly, with no continuity slip-ups. One poor begonia got watered 10 times in the name of great television …. and now it’s being rained on too. Poor old Solenostemon (coleus) ‘Henna’ was in just the wrong position for all the cables and tripods so took a bit of a battering. I hope this plant makes it on to Gardeners’ World as it really has been the ‘It’ plant in my garden this year, giving flame nettles a good name. My local garden centre / nursery has already confirmed they will be growing ‘Henna’ again, so I expect to see it in every garden in Broadstairs next summer.

The Jungle Garden commanded most of the camera’s attention, but we briefly  filmed The Gin & Tonic Garden …. just as it was time for a Gin & Tonic. At 6pm it was a wrap, and the crew packed up their kit and went home. I had just enough energy in reserve to switch off the urn and get myself fish and chips (this is becoming a dreadful habit) before curling up on the sofa with a glass of rosé and watching TV. I was so tired I can’t even remember what was on. I vaguely remember Stephanie Beecham doing yoga in India and thinking that Dynasty had changed considerably since I last watched. I was in bed by 10pm and didn’t wake up for 12 hours.

As yet, there’s no confirmed date for the piece to air, but readers of this blog will be among the first to know when I know. It might be this year, or it could be sometime in 2019, depending on scheduling. Gardeners’ World is posted to You Tube so you should be able to watch it there, wherever you are.

All-in-all filming the garden for television was a great experience and something one only gets to do once. I thoroughly enjoyed the opportunity to see behind the scenes and also to spend time in front of the camera. I learned a lot that I can apply to my own short films in future, although I doubt I will be spending ten hours creating them!

A huge thank you to the BBC for singling out The Watch House for inclusion on the show. Now I can’t wait to see how it looks on the television. TFG.

I should have predicted it. I take a holiday, I unwind (sort of), and up creeps the dreaded tonsillitis. It happens every time, without fail. I don’t suffer from many afflictions but this one comes along as regular as clockwork and it’s debilitating. Tonsillitis is one of the few things that changes my cup from overflowing to empty: I am, shall we say, feeling glum.

I worked from home today, conserving as much energy as possible, slumped dejectedly against my desk with all considerations of posture going firmly out of the French doors. I would not recommend a full inbox as a cure for any minor or serious ailments, and mine was brimming over with circulars, copy-addressees and general nonsense: all serious dealings seem to have stopped in line with the start of the school holidays. Backlog dealt with, I had a minor triumph to celebrate.

Meanwhile a garden is like a young child, in that you can’t neglect it if you’re feeling off-colour. The show has to go on. Tonight I’ve been outside watering, rather cursorily I admit, in order that we both get through the next few days with some semblance of vigour intact. As I look around I am reminded how much joy flowers can bring, even when one’s feeling low. In the Jungle Garden, high on a wave of crisp green foliage sails Dahlia ‘Nicholas’, a new dahlia at The Watch House for 2018 and one I’ve warmed to very quickly. The leaves are nothing extraordinary, but the flowers are simply stunning, verging on perfection. There is something so alluring about the blooms’ gently rounded petals and warm tones, beginning with a flash of crimson at the centre and bleeding out to sulphur yellow and then soft apricot towards the edges. Followers will already know I have a soft spot for any dahlia possessed of an ‘inner light’, meaning that ‘Nicholas’ is in with a strong chance of joining ‘Firepot’ and ‘American Dawn’ to make my top three.

Dahlia ‘Nicholas’ was introduced to gardens in 2010 by Swan Island Dahlias of Oregon, USA. They are one of the largest dahlia growers in the United States, offering almost 400 varieties. The equivalent in the UK might be The National Dahlia Collection, boasting over 1600 varieties (get in!). Although I could not readily find ‘Nicholas’ in their catalogue, I did stumble over tens of others I’d like to try next year. In the meantime Sarah Raven is always a great source of dahlias since the Sarah Raven team are so good at editing the choice down to the best and easiest to coordinate plants: clever, commercial, and they know it!

As dahlias go ‘Nicholas’ is a little taller than many of the others I grow, holding its own alongside tall gingers such as Hedychium ‘Stephen’ which shares some of the same peachy tones. American gardeners applaud the longevity of Nicholas’ blooms on the plant and in a vase, but bemoan the short length of the flower stems, which I can attest to. A small gripe with an otherwise immaculate and uplifting dahlia. A ‘must add’ for next year’s summer bulb order and a good gift for the glummest gardener. TFG.

I purchase the majority of my plants on a whim. Hands up, it’s one of my greatest weaknesses, not to mention greatest expenses. I am a self-confessed, unashamed plantaholic, but I am not alone. Admit it, you’ve been there, confronted by a plant you have no place for and you just have to have it. It’s an addiction, but it’s okay; there are so many worse obsessions than wanting to possess, study and marvel at the beauty of foliage and flowers. In addition, I am not a great one for planning ahead, despite encouraging other gardeners to do so. I tend to see what plants I’ve got, and then work out how to make the best of them. This approach will probably make more conservative gardeners feel queasy, but each to his (or her) own. It works very well for me.

I’m often asked where I get my plants from, and my unhelpful answer is ‘everywhere’. There’s scarcely a situation in which I am not capable of finding a plant to buy. Back in May, on holiday with a group of friends, I found myself at Longstock Park in Hampshire at the time of their annual plant fair. This wasn’t entirely an accident – sometimes I do get as far as planning my spontaneous purchasing – but it was a steaming hot day and I wasn’t really in the mood for plant shopping.

I had been on the look out for a new passion flower for some time, having become a little tired of the common-or-garden P. caerulea growing by my front gate and having tragically killed off P. ‘Victoria’ last winter. Unexpectedly I spotted a white hybrid called ‘Snow Queen’ and was immediately sold. The plant looked healthy and vigorous, and at 2ft already had 5 or 6 flower buds. Back at home in Broadstairs I planted ‘Snow Queen’ in a tall pot and left her to mingle with a resurgent Holboellia latifolia. Anyone familiar with Holboellia latifolia might question whether any climber, other than Russian vine (Fallopia baldschuanica), could be a match for such a vigorous beast, but in ‘Snow Queen’ it has met its match.

Passiflora ‘Snow Queen’ is a most welcome introduction from passion flower enthusiast Myles Irvine, a gym owner from Surbiton. It is named in honour of his friend Natalia Walaszek. In 2007 Myles crossed hardy P. caerulea with tender P. ‘White Wedding’ and the result, four years later, was ‘Snow Queen’, selected for the purity and longevity of its white flowers and the hardiness and vigour of the vine itself. And when I say vigour, I mean vigour. In the four months since I planted it, ‘Snow Queen’ has grown 15ft from the base and is producing ten or more flowers every day, each lasting 48 hours. At first the self-clinging stems produced only leaves, some larger than my hand, but in early August flowering resumed and looks set to continue through autumn. The amount of growth is staggering when you consider the pot my plant is growing in measures only 12″ in diameter.

White flowers are always popular with gardeners and this passion flower has blooms of the purest white with just a hint of crisp, Granny Smith green. The outer petals, knowns as sepals, have curious green hooks (awls) at their tips. Three imposing stigmas are spotted with a rich, figgy purple. As a flower it’s damn close to perfection and the bees love it too. The leaves are both enormous and attractive, perfect for covering unsightly walls.

Passiflora ‘Snow Queen’ thrives in full sun or light shade and enjoys good drainage. It will grow very happily in a pot, on a balcony or on the patio. The vine is both hardy and evergreen, capable of flowering all year round in sheltered conditions. Plants are available from Cross Common Nursery in my native Cornwall. Don’t think twice about buying one. This is a climber everyone should find space for. TFG.

It’s almost 15 months since the Gin & Tonic Garden first came into being. My compact, 20ft x 20ft courtyard is still occasionally referred to as ‘the other garden’, ‘the new garden’ or ‘the back garden’, even though my house has no definitive front or back. When visitors come to The Watch House, the Gin & Tonic Garden receives barely half the attention that the Jungle Garden attracts. Whilst the setting isn’t as appealing and the plants are less mature, the Gin & Tonic Garden is rapidly growing on me. Part of the appeal is that it’s sunny in the late afternoon, which The Jungle Garden is not, and also that it has a completely different vibe – more like a cottage garden where everything has been flung together in a cheerful mix. In a year the Gin & Tonic Garden has developed and flourished beyond all my hopes and expectations, especially given that this space was originally envisioned as a glorified ‘bringing-on’ space for the Jungle Garden. There is still a greenhouse for nurturing tender plants, cuttings and seedlings, but the rest of the garden has developed a personality of its own. Any bringing-on or dying-down happens in the narrow passageway that leads to the street, invisible from the house. Not an inch of space is wasted.

Almost everything in the Gin & Tonic Garden is grown in pots. This is because I still have a lot of concrete and rubble to dig out and a raised bed to build. I arrange them in such away that it becomes very difficult to see them, creating the illusion that plants are growing from the ground. The soil here is about 6″ deep before pure-white chalk rock is reached. The garden’s boundary, a very weather-worn fence, is an eyesore. It pains me to look at its patched and dreary facade each time I look out of the library window. The fence will be replaced with smart slatted panels as soon as I can afford it. I expect this to be transformative for the Gin & Tonic Garden, providing a more effective wind break and a link back to the colours and finishes used in The Jungle Garden.

Sun-loving plants come into their own in The Gin & Tonic garden, especially during the summer. Bronze-leaved fennel, marjoram, rosemary and chives have grown well, as have echiums, salvias, polygala and olives. None of these would prosper in the cooler, shadier Jungle Garden. The sun doesn’t get far above the surrounding terraces in winter, but there’s shelter enough from the north and east to protect tender plants such as Geranium maderense, which were not harmed by the Beast from the East here, but which perished in the Jungle Garden. The Gin & Tonic Garden is a much better spot for growing dahlias and plants with silver foliage. I am willing Buddleja speciosissima to bloom this year; Senecio ‘Angel Wings’ has prospered and Echium candicans (below) is looking fit as a fiddle despite being grown in a container. I also have space for my first grasses, including the beautiful purple sugar cane (Saccharum officinarum var. violaceum) and crimson fountain grass (Pennisetum setaceum ‘Fireworks’).

Neither of my gardens has what I’d call a proper water feature, however I have secreted a black plastic barrel in the Gin & Tonic Garden in order to cultivate Thalia dealbata (powdery alligator flag – such an absurd common name) and Cyperus papyrus (Egyptian papyrus). My friends’ two boys were so appalled that I had installed a ‘pond’ without fish that I was compelled to purchase two goldfish, which they named Kyon and Mr Bean. Both appear exceptionally happy in their Lilliputian home.

My first year of growing tomatoes in the greenhouse has been a great success. Since I only have myself to feed I decided to grow a single plant of five different varieties, including ‘Black Opal’ and ‘Orange Paruche’. I removed a fair amount of the dusty, spent earth that was already in the greenhouse border and worked in lots of fresh compost before planting. Apart from a negligible amount of leaf-miner activity I have experienced no other ills. I only wish the greenhouse roof were a little higher as my tomato plants were desperate to grow taller.

The Gin & Tonic Garden has provided space for me to trial several new shrubs and small trees, including Catalpa bignonioides ‘Aurea’ (golden Indian bean tree) and Catalpa x erubescens ‘Purpurea’ (purple Indian bean tree). Both will be coppiced annually to keep the trees small and the leaves large. Alongside them Sparmannia africana ‘Flore Pleno’ (African hemp), Tetrapanaz papyrifer ‘Rex’ (Chinese rice paper plant) and Zantedeschia aethiopica ‘Spotted Giant’ (giant spotted arum lily) are keeping the foliage stakes high. Gingers old and new, including red-flowered Hedychium greenii, heavenly-scented Hedychium gardnerianum and spectacular Hedychium maximum will give me flowers well into the autumn.

For a year’s work the Gin & Tonic Garden had brought me ample reward. Following the trials of a harsh, late winter, we’ve been blessed with a terrific growing season, helping plants to establish themselves fast. As an addition to the Jungle Garden this new courtyard space has kept me busy and offered fantastic growing opportunities. Although I could count the number of gin and tonics I’ve enjoyed outside on one hand, that’s not really the point. The idea that I could, if I wished to, is enough for me. TFG.

Read Tales from The Gin & Tonic Garden Part I here, and see how much has changed in the course of fifteen months. Looking back at this post I’m surprised myself …. although not by how quickly I’ve managed to fill the space with plants! I hope what these two posts demonstrate is that attractive gardens can be created quickly if there is already some structure to work with, and that it doesn’t take long to start reaping the benefits of your hard work..

Ornamental gingers – we’ve admired them whilst on holiday in tropical countries, or seen them curated in the glasshouses of botanical gardens, but how many of us have considered growing them in our own gardens? Surely gingers need more heat and sunlight than the British climate can offer? Aren’t they going to be hopelessly needy or plagued by pests and diseases? Well, I have news for you, gingers are easy to grow, and many require a lot less care and attention than you imagine.

If you don’t already grow ornamental gingers in your garden I hope that by the end of this post you’ll feel compelled to give them a try. Most gingers are easy-going, exotic-looking plants that return a lot of bang for your buck. Their demands can be summarised as regular watering and feeding, dappled shade and some winter protection; generally a deep mulch will suffice. Undisturbed in the ground they will develop into lush thickets of leafy stems, topped by colourful, highly scented flowers in late summer and autumn. Gingers are team players, working with other plants in many situations; at the back of a herbaceous border, in a large pot in a courtyard garden, as the centrepiece for summer bedding or as part of a jungly planting scheme. Five years ago I started with a single variety, Hedychium ‘Stephen’, purchased from Hardy Exotics in Cornwall. That small plant has now expanded into eight clumps, each the size of a dustbin lid. Now I have fourteen varieties of ginger and I’m adding to them all the time. I can honestly say that gingers are the amongst easiest and most rewarding plants I grow: pest free, rarely requiring staking, always a talking point and, best of all, deliciously scented like no other plant I know.

The ornamental ‘butterfly’ gingers, in latin Hedychium (heh-DIK-ee-um), belong to the Zingiberaceae family which also includes Zingiber officinale, the culinary ginger. They’re rhizomatous plants, growing from subterranean stems that look very similar to the ginger ‘root’ you’d buy in a supermarket. Most gingers grow 1-2m tall, producing long, plain green leaves on thick stems. They are very hard to tell apart from their foliage, although ‘Dr Moy’ and ‘Verity’ are variegated, which is a fairly unusual trait. Ginger flowers are much more diverse, varying in size, arrangement and colour. Some gingers produce a tall, candle-like inflorescence, whilst others produce a short cluster of bloom like a shaving brush. Ornamental gingers have been extensively hybridised, resulting in colours from white through yellow, apricot, orange, pink and red.

Hedychiums come from originally from the world’s tropical and semi tropical zones. Those most suited to UK gardens grow at a high altitude and can therefore tolerate lower temperatures at night and over winter. Although the Victorians considered gingers to be tender, we are now discovering that many are not so delicate as once imagined, hailing as they do from Himalayan forests. Here lie all the clues to successful cultivation:

1) Gingers like to be moist during the growing season. Growing on the floor of mountain forests they are used to ample summer rainfall and rich soil. During the winter the weather is drier and the rhizomes are protected from the cold by a thick layer of leaf litter.

2) Gingers don’t appreciate hot, midday sun – in the forest the tree canopy provides dappled shade. Gingers enjoy sun at the beginning and end of the day, but not being exposed to the midday sun. In too much sun the leaves will roll up to prevent water loss through transpiration, and eventually they will develop dry, papery patches where they have, effectively, burned.

3) Gingers enjoy a sheltered position – again, being woodlanders gingers grow best in sheltered, humid conditions. Courtyards, walled gardens and spots at the base of a wall or hedge, provided they are not too dry, are ideal for them. Gingers will take some wind, but if excessive the leaves will roll, burn and occasionally become ripped and tatty.

4) Gingers like light – The days further south in the northern hemisphere are more consistent in length and are filled with longer hours of sunlight. Outdoors during a poor British summer, some gingers may struggle to gather enough steam to produce flowers before winter arrives. Some, but not all, will die down in the winter, giving them only 6-7 months to grow and flower. Warm weather, a sheltered spot and maturity will help bring flowering forward.

Ornamental Gingers through the Year

• Buy rhizomes from reputable suppliers in April, or plants at any time during the growing season. I’ve recommended sources which I have used personally below. I’ve found gingers started from dry rhizomes much slower to establish than those purchased as growing plants.
• Gingers can be grown in the ground or in pots. I find those grown in pots flower earlier than those in the ground, probably because they can be started into growth a little earlier in the spring, by keeping them in a warm, sheltered spot or an unheated greenhouse. (I wonder if black plastic pots absorb heat and promote an earlier growth too.) Gingers are greedy feeders, so use John Innes No.3 in pots, and add a slow release fertiliser to the surface after 6-8 weeks. If growing in the ground, add lots of rich, well-rotted organic matter from your compost bin to mimic the woodsy conditions gingers enjoy in their natural habitat. Good compost will also retain moisture. In pots I plant rhizomes so that their tops are exposed above the surface of the compost / grit. In the ground you can plant a little deeper, but the rhizomes will tend to haul themselves up over time. If growing in pots or containers, be prepared to go up a size or two each year. Ginger rhizomes are powerful and willful quickly distorting the sides of black plastic pots; they tend to decide which direction they are growing in and then grow! More often than not I am forced to cut my gingers out of their straining containers in order to divide or repot them. I would not recommend terracotta for this reason as it will likely shatter. You can cheat in the garden by plunging potted plants into a border, but you’ll need to be prepared to feed and water your plants frequently as their roots will not be able to venture far for sustenance.

• As soon as thick, red, pointed shoots start to emerge from the rhizomes – which can happen any time from late April to June – then you should commence watering, unless your site is very damp naturally. Gingers will flourish close to a pond or on the banks of a stream, as at Trengwainton in Cornwall. I grow 90% of my gingers in pots and stand these in a sheltered, shady passageway until they are about 3ft tall and ready to be moved into their final positions for summer.
• Ginger rhizomes are best divided in early summer when they are in full growth, simply by slicing them up. I use a sharp bread knife. Doing it at this time allows you to see where the new stems are and the exposed cuts will heal quickly. However, take care to avoid breaking any of the shoots in the process and don’t leave this job too late in the season. Your gardening friends will cheerfully accept any excess plants as gifts, although I find it very hard to part with them.

• Once growing, all gingers need are food, water, dappled shade and shelter. In warm weather they grow fast, almost in front of your eyes. I apply dilute tomato food weekly to supplement a more balanced slow-release fertiliser. Pests and diseases are mercifully few. I’ve occasionally seen a snail or a cabbage white take an interest in the foliage, but damage has been minimal. Healthy plants shrug off all but the most persistent attackers. High winds and scorching sun will be your greatest enemy, so provide shelter from those.
• Some gingers have the habit of throwing out stems at a slight angle, I suppose to help them search for light and spread their leaves to maximise photosynthesis. This arching habit becomes more pronounced in shadier spots. If you are fussy about this, you should stake your plants, although I feel this detracts from their natural grace and elegance. Hedychium ‘Tara’ and Hedychium gardnerianum are stronger and more upright varieties in my garden. In sun they will grow bolt upright to reduce the amount of light reaching their foliage. In the UK, most gingers will grow no more than 6″ in height outdoors, suiting most to a position at the back of the border.

• Following a warm spring, gingers might flower as early as late June, but most will bide their time until August, September or October. Try not to be too impatient, especially if your plants are young. Once flowering has begun each individual spike or cluster might flower for a week or so and, if scented, will emit a heavy, luxurious perfume at night. Some gingers will produce several flushes of flowers from the same spike over a period of days. Moths like to visit, especially those with an elongated proboscis, such as the Convolvulus Hawk Moth (Agrius convolvuli). I have not tried gingers as cut flowers – I think they look better in the garden – but I don’t imagine they would last long in a vase.
• Once spent, there is no particular need to remove the flower spikes but this is when I stop feeding regularly. The stems on which they are held will naturally begin to decline over a period of weeks and fleshy fruits may start to appear, turning red in the late autumn. I have not attempted growing gingers from seed, but this is something I’d like to learn more about. As the first frosts approach, the foliage will start to turn yellow. At this point any gingers you want to keep growing actively overwinter should be moved into a cool greenhouse or conservatory. Those from warmer countries do not die down naturally and must be kept somewhere warm and light until spring.

• As the first frosts approach, the foliage of most gingers will start to turn yellow. The yellowing occurs as the plants start to pull the plant’s energy back down into the rhizome. Each dying stem will then separate quite freely from the rhizome, snapping cleanly off in a very satisfying manner: take a deep breath and fill your lungs with the fresh, gingery scent. Unflowered stems may stay green and healthy outdoors all through winter; this is certainly the case for me. Only once, in early 2018, has the temperature dropped low enough to damage any remaining top growth. No harm was done to the rhizomes.

• If your gingers are in pots then they can be put somewhere dark and frost-free until April. A garage, shed or cellar is fine. The rhizomes do not require any light and must not be watered. Some residual moisture in the compost is fine, but no more should be added. I do absolutely nothing to my gingers for the whole winter period, apart from checking once to ensure there’s no decay. I have yet to find any. Being greedy and vigorous, it is highly likely that the rhizomes will need repotting in a larger pot and in fresh compost every year. If simply repotting rather than dividing, I do this in April before growth begins, but do not water the plants until shoots appear.
• In the open ground, gingers should be given a thick mulch of leaves or bark or spent compost in November. This level of protection should be completely adequate for most varieties. If you are concerned or risk averse, dig up your rhizomes and pot them in clean, dry compost for the winter. However be aware that gingers don’t relish disturbance so are better left in situ if possible. They are great companions for spring bulbs as they start into growth so late in the year.

In comparison to most other plants I grow at The Watch House, hardy or tender, gingers are a breeze. They come up, do their thing and go away again. I have never killed one, nor has a pest or disease. They are always marvelled at when I open my garden, as if I have performed some small miracle. In fact I have done very little, apart from feed and water. If I had one criticism it would be that ginger flowers don’t last long. Growing several varieties and allowing them to make big clumps overcomes that issue by extending the flowering season and the number of flower spikes. The foliage alone is wonderful, providing a lush backdrop to other plants.

There are few sights as breathtaking as a clump of gingers in full bloom, and when you add the exquisite perfume on top, there’s little to rival their exotic allure. It’s not too late to buy plants this year – if they are a decent size you may even get flowers out of them – and in November you can sling them in the shed and forget about them until spring. Easier to grow than dahlias or lilies, and more remarkable than either, ornamental gingers are a must for every garden. TFG.

Gingers in My Garden

• Hedychium ‘Anne Bishop’
• Hedychium coccineum ‘Tara’
• Hedychium coronarium ‘Gold Spot’
• Hedychium densiflorum ‘Sorung’
• Hedychium densiflorum ‘Stephen’
• Hedychium ‘Dr Moy’
• Hedychium gardnerianum
• Hedychium greenii
• Hedychium ‘Helen Dillon’
• Hedychium ‘Luna Moth’
• Hedychium maximum
• Hedychium ‘Pradhan’
• Hedychium ‘Verity’
• Hedychium yunannense

recommended sources of ginger plants

• Jungle Seeds – the source of over half my gingers. Sadly it seems they may cease offering ginger plants at the end of 2018, so get in there quick for top-notch plants.
• Hardy Exotics – a plantsman’s paradise in West Cornwall. My first ginger plants came from here and I still love to visit.
• Urban Jungle –  a great selection of gingers available via mail order.
• Springwood Nursery – one of the most extensive collections in the UK cultivated by a very experienced grower.

The plants are quite hungry feeders and require a good feed and plenty of water when in full growth. If allowing dying back for the winter then should not be fed after the end of August. They must not be waterlogged over winter as this can be fatal for them, opposed to when in full growth the can almost be aquatic.

The plants will start to grow in the spring when the average soil temperature gets above ten degrees centigrade. So I plant them with spring bulbs to give me any early flush of colour and as they fade the gingers start to grow through. The gingers will continue growth until the first frosts, and then they start to pull the energy back to the rhizome. The stem will then separate quite freely when ready and will literally ‘pop off’. If in a pot then it can be put in the garden shed for the winter or if you wish to keep them going, bring into the conservatory. Do not lift the rhizome like you do to Cannas as they take at least a year to ‘settle in’ and so if you lift it is difficult for them to flower in the following year.

The ginger rhizome is best divided in the early summer when they are in full growth, simply by slicing it up. Doing it at this time, allows you to see where the new stems are and the exposed sliced area will heal quite quickly. Late slicing as the plant slows, delays healing and can allow rots to set in.

As the sun sets on August, what will be my abiding memories of summer 2018? It goes without saying that the heat and drought that descended on the South East from early May until early August will not be forgotten. Sustained fine weather, with many consecutive days in the high twenties centigrade, provided exceptional growing conditions for the tender plants I love. Many have grown larger and flowered earlier than ever before. I’ve experimented with plants generally considered too delicate to be grown outdoors and enjoyed surprising success. Bromeliads, tillandsias and anthuriums have flourished in the shelter of my tiny courtyard, not just sitting patiently, but actually growing handsomely.

The downside was the excessive amount of watering required to keep everything alive. Garden writer Jack Wallington kindly praised my ‘good husbandry’ after visiting in early August, the most sincerely appreciated compliment I have been paid as a gardener. But keeping the garden in its prime took its toll. I was frequently to be found in the garden after dark, either with a watering can or a torch, stalking vine weevils and snails. I rarely got enough sleep during the week, but it was enough to know that visitors appreciated my efforts when they flocked to The Watch House on August 4th and 5th, raising £1400 for the National Gardens Scheme in the space of just 8 hours.

It would be a mistake to imagine that we’ll be blessed with similar weather next year, or that 2018’s heatwave will come to be considered ‘normal’. The likelihood is that next year will be cooler, or at least less consistently warm. Like any gardener I will adapt as nature demands and take care not to be lulled into a false sense of security.

Towards the end of July and through August came some unexpectedly vicious storms, bringing with them high winds and heavy rain. These did a lot of damage in my garden, shredding banana leaves, toppling dahlias, pushing over trees and flattening coleus. The worst storm, on Friday 27th July, was especially destructive and unwelcome, coming as it did shortly before my garden opening. We’ve been warned that with warmer summers we should expect more extreme weather events, and it certainly feels like this prophecy came to pass in 2018. It’s a salutary reminder that I must think again about protecting my garden from the wind that comes from the north and the south, and that I really must stake my plants earlier in the year. I know I should, but I hate to see canes poking up everywhere (and hate it even more when I fall into a forest of them, as I did the other day!). However, staking really is a necessity if I wish to continue with the jungly planting style I have developed over the last 5 years.

A cooler end to August has been a blessing, reducing the burden of watering and restoring colour to the foliage of my coleus, especially ‘Henna’ (above) which was starting to become badly bleached by the sun. I shall wait a few weeks longer before offering an assessment of the coleus varieties I have been trialing, although I can already reveal that ‘Pineapplette’ has withered and died despite receiving the same treatment as all the others. You win some, you lose some. At the moment I am particularly taken with the small-leaved varieties such as ‘Lord Falmouth’ and ‘Burgundy Wedding Train’. Since the rain resumed, most plants look fresher and happier, although there are slightly fewer flowers in the garden overall. It’s easy to forget how dusty and dull foliage can get during a dry spell.

As September approaches I feel content with how the garden is looking, although I can think of countless opportunities for improvement. I have missed my agapanthus, still recovering after the beastly spring, and anticipate it may be another two years before they are back on top form. I can already tell that the workshop is going to be an absolute godsend over winter, especially now that it has a supply of electricity. I shall be overwintering all my gingers and bananas in there, but not before I’ve potted up my spring bulbs. These ought to have been ordered by now, but I’ve not had the time, or the funds: another job for the autumn ‘to do’ list. The lilies I purchased at Hampton Court Flower Show are about to start flowering, and soon will come nerines, more gingers and more dahlias. There’s plenty of life in this year yet. TFG.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on the summer of 2018. Did you love or loath the hot weather? Were you a slave to the hose or did you resist the urge to irrigate? Do let me know how you and your plants have fared and what you’re looking forward to this autumn.

My garden is so jam-packed with plants by early autumn that I can barely move around outside. Far from holding plants back, a spell of cooler, duller weather has encouraged exuberant growth and the appearance of lashings of fresh foliage. Flowers are in shorter supply, but there are enough to give the garden interest and punctuation. I particularly enjoy September as I can take my foot off the pedal and just let things go. Colocasias and bananas suddenly achieve gigantic proportions, grasses arch across the pathways and fuchsias drip with dancing flowers. It’s a magical month, whilst at the same time signalling the beginning of the end of the gardening year.

My coleus have responded quickly to a fortnight of variable weather, their foliage becoming larger, richer and brighter every day. Despite being considered heat and sun resistant, Solenostemon ‘Henna’ has been revitalised by showers and fresher mornings, the leaves once again a brilliant Chartreuse backed by henna-red. It’s a dazzling combination. During the heat of summer the leaves had turned pale gold in places, giving the plant a sickly appearance. The effect was not unattractive, but I was not enamoured: I much prefer the foliage now it’s back to its brick-and-acid brilliance.

Solenostemon ‘Henna’ is a relatively new coleus, trialled extensively in the USA where coleus are significantly more popular than they are here in the UK. It quickly makes a large plant and propagates easily from cuttings, which can be rooted in a glass of water and then potted on. I am taking a few cuttings every fortnight so that I have plenty of smaller plants to overwinter. The parent plant is now 4ft tall and counting. I’ve already described how the colour and quality of Henna’s foliage is greatly influenced by the amount of sunlight it catches, which is the same for many coleus. Too bright and any variegation changes colour, loses definition or disappears completely. This varies for every variety and some are certainly more tolerant of full sun than others. For me, the value of coleus is that they bring fabulous colour and variety to a partly shaded garden so I am not fussed about growing them in baking sunshine. Healthy coleus cope well with dull, damp weather, although the same conditions appeal to slugs and snails which find them delicious.

What I particularly like about ‘Henna’ is that it’s a bright, robust and vigorous plant that injects unique colours and textures among more conventional foliage plants. The leaves have an almost reptilian surface and jagged edges, reminding us that coleus are often referred to as flame nettles. Looking back I can see how dramatically the degree of serration around the edge of each leaf increases as the plants reach maturity. S. ‘Henna’ is shy to flower. This is a bonus, since flowering in coleus is deemed a negative. Coleus flowers are not interesting and their appearance normally signifies the decline of the plant. It’s best to nip them off if they do start to appear, although this can be a losing battle. I did not have to do anything to encourage a bushy habit, the plant did that for itself. With some coleus it’s beneficial to pinch out the main growing tip to encourage side shoots to form.

If had to identify any drawbacks it would be that ‘Henna’ is a little fragile, both in terms of the strength of the main stems and the tear-resistance of the leaves. I may experience these issues because my garden is very sheltered, causing plants to get a bit ‘soft’, but it’s nothing a few short pea sticks wouldn’t prevent at planting time. ‘Henna’ is also not the easiest plant to place, especially in a garden full of flowers. I think it works best with plainer foliage, whatever the colour, and alongside other coleus.

I know that many visitors marvelled at this unusual coleus when they visited my garden in August and I hope that they will all seek it out. Coleus deserve to be more widely grown, either as houseplants or summer bedding plants. They are easy to grow, almost pest free (darn those slugs and snails!) and as colourful as the most extrovert blooms. ‘Henna’ is one of the biggest and best, so why not give it a try next summer?

You would not believe the ideas I have for this blog. They are stored up in my head and occasionally committed to paper. They come to me in the shower, on the train, in the garden and as I go to sleep at night. My ideas range in magnitude from humble to magnificent. If realised, The Frustrated Gardener would be the finest gardening blog in all the land, maybe even the greatest in the universe. I would be rich and famous, Monty Don would invite me to Longmeadow for the weekend and Alan Titchmarsh would do ‘carry to car’ for me at plant fairs. He’d even drive me there and back. I would have a garden the size of Wisley and all the gardeners I needed to keep it looking immaculate. I would garden masterfully by day and write brilliantly by night, never tiring of either.  Unfortunately, the gulf that lies between my ambition and my capacity to deliver it is a wide one, so my fellow bloggers can sleep easy tonight, and probably for the foreseeable future. Yet I believe it’s better to have unfulfilled ambition than no ambition at all. I shall just keep on tapping away, generating ideas and perhaps one day I shall get ‘there’, wherever that might be.

During the months ahead I hope to experiment with a couple of new post series; one called ‘On the Bookshelf’, which will explore a single shelf in my library at a time, highlighting some of my favourite reads and references, and another called ‘Perfect Partners’, celebrating successful relationships between two or more plants. I begin that series today with Tradescantia ‘Purple Sabre’ and Begonia ‘Martin Johnson’, two alluring plants that came together quite by chance on a narrow shelf in my garden room.

I first met Tradescantia ‘Purple Sabre’ on holiday in Montenegro where I admired it tumbling out of a mellow stone trough into pot of bright red, ivy-leaf geraniums. The effect was striking. The foliage of this fine tradescantia is iridescent in bright sunshine, the leaf surface shimmering like a slick of dusky eyeshadow. Occasionally a stem presents a small, pinkish-purple flower, but this is gilding the lily. I thought no more about our meeting until a rare visit to Burncoose Nurseries in Cornwall reunited us. I purchased a single plant. One is all you need, since the stems of ‘Purple Sabre’ are both liable to snap off and to root quickly when inserted into a pot of free-draining compost. The plant you see in this photograph is just a year old, and has given rise to numerous others already.

Begonia ‘Martin Johnson’ came to me as a tiny plug plant from Dibleys Nurseries. I was ordering other things and decided to top up my order with a couple of large-leaved, Rex-type begonias. ‘Martin Johnson’ sat petulantly in its pot for a year, producing just a single, lousy leaf. I wrote the begonia off as one of my more disappointing purchases. Then, all of a sudden, one huge, maple-shaped leaf appeared, followed by another, and then another. That feeble little plug has now made a nice plant, although it should become much larger in the fullness of time.

What I like about the combination of these two plants is that they are entirely different from one another, and yet complementary. The tradescantia is sleek, elegant and expensive-looking, like a Valentino gown, whilst the begonia is all jazz hands, blaring Christian Lacroix lavishness. Even the way the begonia positions its leaves shouts ‘look at me – I’m fab-u-lous dahling!’. The two plants are unified in this composition by a generous flourish of Streptocarpus saxorum, a plant which flowers for almost twelve months of the year but occasionally takes a short break. Like many perfect partners, ‘Purple Sabre’ and ‘Martin Johnson’ benefit from a little space, rather than needing to live cheek-by-jowl. As far as care is concerned both enjoy similar conditions: bright shade and perhaps a little sun to bring out their dusky, metallic colours, moist but well-drained compost and protection from frost. Each will grow quite happily outside during the summer months. And again, like many a good pairing they are better together than separate, so much so that they’re consigned to that narrow shelf in my garden room for eternity …. or until I fulfil all my ambitions, whichever takes longer. TFG.

Each year, ‘order bulbs’ goes on my to-do list in July and each year it is still there in early September. By then there will be an asterisk placed either side of the entry to emphasise the urgency of the task. Yet for some reason I never get around to ordering when I should and it’s then a race against time to get my narcissi planted before I jet off to the Far East. Tulips must wait until I return in November. In the meantime the bulb catalogues stack up in the library, goading me with lascivious images of titilating tulips and naughty narcissi. This is bulb porn, and the nurserymen know I will succumb eventually. (Worst of all is that persistent Madame Sarah Raven, who keeps taunting me with new versions of the same catalogue, each featuring an increasingly voluptuous selection of blooms. When that fails Madame starts offering me discounts until I finally give in.)

Each year I also promise myself that I will purchase fewer bulbs, and of course I don’t do that either. In fact I’ve purchased 50% more this year, which is a good result as initially I was heading for 100%. Even I had to admit that was a bit silly.

Inspired by a glossy page in this month’s Gardens Illustrated, where garden designer Hugo Bugg had chosen a small selection of spring bulbs in shades of white, yellow, mahogany and antique peach, I set about building on that colour theme to create sufficient interest for my garden throughout the months of March, April and May. I have stopped taking any notice of what the catalogues suggest in the way of flowering times, as it’s all about when you plant and what the weather does. This spring, following The Beast from the East everything flowered at once whether it was planned to do so in March or May.

From last year’s order I called again on a few bulbs that I particularly liked, including tulips ‘Purissima Design’ (above), ‘Garant’, ‘Big Brother’ and the sublimely lovely ‘Stunning Apricot’. I am reintroducing favourites I’ve missed such as tulips ‘Lasting Love’, ‘Dom Pedro, ‘Belle Epoque’ and zany parrot tulip ‘Rococo’ (below), since their unique colours will work in my new scheme – just. But there must always be new varieties and I’ve chosen several this year: among the daffodils will be ‘Katie Heath’, a small narcissus with a pinkish trumpet, and ‘Altruist’, a most unusual flower with peach petals and short, carrot-coloured trumpets. There are a handful of lilies on my order too, although these will follow the tulips in early June if planted in autumn. One I’ve plumped for is ‘Forever Susan’, a lily that produces glowing flowers the colour of a charred carrot. This may not sound very appetising, but the pictures look delicious. Another is ‘Whistler’, chosen simply for the unusual combination of faded peach and brownish-red in its petals. Quite special.

As for tulips I couldn’t resist the sulphur-edged petals of ‘Doberman’ nor the flaming form of ‘Helmar’. ‘Green River’ has me totally intrigued. With blooms the colour of bruised salmon streaked with moss green it will either be fabulous or horrible. I will let you know which. I did not select many doubles this year, but ‘Montreaux’ struck me as unusual and worth a try. The tulip’s huge ivory flowers are suffused pink, lending it the appearance of a peony.

I took lusty delight in cutting the pictures out of my bulb catalogues, just as I did when I was a child. Doing so helps me to paint a picture of how my bulb theatre might look in a few months’ time. My love of plants began in the pages of flower catalogues, and there it will continue until the day growers don’t print catalogues anymore. Of course I know the images are staged, the flowers ‘fluffed’ and the colours enhanced, but this is flower porn, and I’m addicted to it for life. TFG.

There comes a moment every autumn when I leave home and return again under the cover of darkness. Since I have been living full time at The Watch House that moment has arrived earlier in the season. On Friday I experienced dawn in the garden for the last time, on a weekday at least. The bruised sky was inflamed with orange and scarred by criss-crossing vapour trails, as if it had been in a fight with a cat overnight. Everything in the garden was grey and still, coated in a thin veil of dew. I noted with a heavy heart that it would be April before I start commuting in the daylight again. Until then I will only see my garden in the daylight at weekends for the next 6 months.

Looking around the garden this morning I am struggling to identify any evidence of the advancing year. We’ve had wind and rain and the nights are getting colder, for sure. One or two plants are becoming a little raggedy around the bottom, but my dahlias are still going great guns, there are lilies in bloom and the greenhouse is heady with the scent of brugmansias. I am watering almost as frequently as I did in July, only by torchlight rather than sunlight. A fortnight ago I chose to bring a philodendron and an anthurium indoors, but everything else is coping admirably with the onset of autumn. So spectacular has this season been that I am loath to it come to an end.

I must not complain about the dark since the garden continues to give me great pleasure. My imminent departure for the Far East will be all the more bittersweet knowing what I am missing at home. By the time I return even my most optimistic self knows that it will be game-over for the vast majority of tender plants, for this year at least. I am leaving them in the capable hands of Mr and Mrs M, who are coming down from Sheffield to babysit them whilst I am away. Before I go I need to plant a lot more bulbs, especially narcissi, and to get my house in order for my guests.

Whilst I know this annual was not universally popular with readers when I planted it, I must commend Petunia ‘Night Sky’ for its vigour and reliability. It has grown so strongly that I have had to prune it back twice, and yet it has flowered incessantly since April. A nice bonus is the fragrance, which is warm and comforting, like vanilla. No two flowers are ever the same, each sporting hundreds of blurry white dots on a violet background. Another plant I would not be without is Begonia ‘Glowing Embers’ which I grow in quantity and use to plug gaps all over the garden. It flowers non-stop whatever the weather and will continue to do so until the first really cold weather arrives.

With my collection of gingers growing so rapidly I have been worried about having too much of the same foliage in the garden. Gingers produce all sorts of different inflorescences, but their leaves are generally very similar. Then I purchased a reasonably-sized Cyathea australis (rough tree fern), destined for the garden room, and realised it was ferny foliage that I had been missing all along. Next year there will be more ferns and at least as many coleus. I will post separately about my coleus trial (I know I keep promising!), but I am already kicking myself for not trying these for size sooner. Coleus are such marvellous plants for cool, semi-shade. Varieties such as ‘Strawberry Jam’ and ‘Bronze Pagoda’ are giving me little flashes of autumn colour and helping to break up the abundant greenness. ‘Henna’ is still the star of the show, having reached 4ft, although I will stake it earlier and more robustly next year.

In the greenhouse my nerines are putting on a good display despite me neglecting them for the rest of the year. Their flowering is a clear signal that the gardening year is drawing to a close, and their glistening vibrancy a constant source of fascination for me. Like many bulbous plants a nerine’s  foliage is nothing to write home about, and yet the flowers are supremely flamboyant. Like Monty Don in this week’s edition of Gardeners’ World I am uprooting my tired tomato plants in order to make room for overwintering plants. I have taken a lot of cuttings this year especially of Plectranthus zuluensis, and these are somewhat taking over. What a terrific plant this is for ground cover in a mild, sheltered space.

So, enough writing and more doing. If you’d like to see more of my garden I have recently updated the My Garden section with images taken by esteemed garden photographer Marianne Majerus. Marianne was kind enough to let me use a selection of her images within this page for which I am very grateful. I shall continue posting whilst I am on my travels, with more reports from my recent visit to Cornwall. In the meantime, enjoy October and Happy Gardening. TFG.

I returned from China to a garden clinging valiantly on to the glories of summer. It was a heart-warming homecoming, but the gift was short-lived. Last week the weather cooled significantly, sending some plants into terminal decline. Dahlias are blooming their final blooms and my coleus are starting to look decidedly limp and lacklustre. I’ve brought indoors the bromeliads, papyrus and philodendrons, taken umpteen coleus and geranium cuttings and sheltered half the gingers and colocasias in the workshop. The remainder soldier on outside, alongside bananas and aeoniums, and will have to take their chances until I get to them.

As Christmas approaches I find myself more than usually stretched for time. Work is getting busy and taking me away from home for a couple of nights each week. I’m packing more than I can reasonably expect to achieve into my weekends; my lists are reaching epic proportions. It’s not a great sign when one wakes up on a Sunday feeling queasy at the prospect of the week ahead, but one can only do so much. After today’s Archers Omnibus I shall get myself back out to the workshop to empty and clean pots before refilling them with spring bulbs.

Outside in the garden a handful of plants are still looking terrific. Fuchsia splendens always peaks in autumn and this year is no exception. The long, orange and apple-green trumpets greet me every day as I leave for work, illuminated by the floodlight by my front door. Salvias ‘Amistad’, ‘Black and Blue’ and ‘Hot Lips’ are going great guns, producing lots of flower with plenty more to come. Hedychium ‘Pradhan’ is attempting to bloom, although I suspect the cold has diminished the size and colour of its flowers. Nevertheless this Himalayan ginger has made a stately plant since I acquired it earlier this year.

I’ve had nerines flowering since late September. At this moment the stars are N. bowdenii and N. bowdenii ‘Isabel’, both excellent, reliable late-flowering bulbs for the garden. The lilies I planted in mid-July are still producing bloom, especially L. ‘Lionheart’. Next year I will plant a lot more in midsummer. In the greenhouse the borders are flooded with Plentranthus zuluensis, producing plenty of lilac-blue bottle-brush flower spikes. Rising above them is a ‘rescue’ Brugmansia, purchased in late September, which has been flowering non-stop ever since. Although the perfume is muted by cooler air, it’s still discernibly there.

The pressure is now on to get my bulbs planted. I have hundreds, still in their bags and boxes, which I am eager to get planted as soon as possible. In reality the process will continue well into December, and perhaps even into January. I have learnt from experience that this doesn’t have any adverse impact, except perhaps to delay flowering by a week or two: ultimately the weather is the greater decider. Today is a lovely day, the garden flooded with soft November sunlight, perfect for enjoying the last vestiges of autumn and providing no further excuses for inaction. TFG.

So I forgot. Today’s the day that the London Evening Standard publishes a feature on neon-coloured foliage and I am not even in London to pick up a copy. They say that if you want a job doing, give it to a busy person, but it you want something remembering, definitely don’t. I have a brain like a sieve, except at 5am when I wake up with gazillion ideas and ‘to dos’ boiling in my head. In tonight’s piece, which features my garden at The Watch House, garden columnist Alex Mitchell writes with verve about plants that look ‘more like velvet cushion covers attacked with a highlighter pen’. I had to giggle at that bit, but it’s so true. Those plants we sniggered at through the noughties are coming back with a vengeance – begonias, caladiums, crotons, coleus, tradescantia – all of them dazzling us with their brilliant foliage and endless variety once again.

The brilliant thing about half-hardy and tropical foliage plants is that the majority will flourish outdoors during summer, freeing your windowsills for whatever you like to keep on your windowsills in summer (for me, it’s more plants, which becomes a problem when the tropicals come back inside again!). Most foliage plants prefer a semi-shaded, well-sheltered spot, as well as a warm, humid summer to do really well. They can be prone to attack from slugs and snails, especially coleus, tradescantia and begonias. One should be vigilant at all times, but particularly when the plants come back indoors in autumn. I had the misfortune to step on snail in the shower this morning, the blighter having crawled stealthily from the crown of Aechmea ‘Blue Rain’ on the edge of the bath. With 15 stone of wet, naked man on top of it, the snail did not come off well from the encounter. If you’ve tried flanneling snail slime off your foot in the shower you will know that it’s not the easiest task.

I digress, so here, without further ado, are my Top 10 colourful foliage plants for summering outside and overwintering indoors:

Tradescantia ‘Purple Sabre’ – a superb trailing plant with the most lustrous, velvety leaves which sparkle like mica in bright sunlight. Propagates with ease so you will soon have more plants than you know what to do with. Often employed as groundcover in subtropical gardens. Lovely in a lead tank allowed to drape over the edge, planted beneath orange fuchsias such as ‘Gartenmeister Bonstedt’.

Begonia ‘Martin Johnson’ AGM – a real thoroughbred of a ‘Rex’ begonia. Produces maple-shaped leaves with a picotee edge. The leaf is a pale grey-green with a pale mauve centre and margins. Slow-growing in my experience.

Solenostemon (coleus) ‘Henna’ – Regular readers of this blog know my passion for this plant well. A very fine flame nettle with Chartreuse-green leaves and henna-red markings and undersides. Grows tall, strong and neat. Will stop anyone with an ounce of interest in plants in their tracks. Roots with ease from cuttings placed in a glass of water.

Solenostemon ‘Pink Chaos’ – this may be a very petite coleus, but the strength and vibrancy of the pink flash at the centre of each leaf is electric. Fantastic planted with hot pink petunias, or, as here, with Angelonia.

Cordyline ‘Pink Fantasy’ – I can’t decide how much of a novelty this plant is, and I will be interested to discover how it fares in the winter. Surprisingly, considering the tough, strappy nature of cordyline leaves, snails find it utterly delicious. You have been warned! Hard to place, so embrace the fact that it’s going to stand out like a sore thumb and celebrate it.

Begonia ‘Gryphon’ – a large, architectural begonia which is blissfully happy either outdoors or in. Puts on tremendous growth even during cool weather and is excellent even in quite heavy shade. A good plant for a bathroom or a hallway if planted in a nice big pot and allowed to bulk up.

Colocasia ‘Maui Gold’ – I recall it being a toss-up between this and another colocasia at Hampton Court this summer, and I am so pleased my final choice was ‘Maui Gold’. The leaves are a clean, clear lime-green, perhaps yellower in sunshine. The stems are a luminous greenish-white, like the stuff that glows in the dark. My plant has grown and grown, and I love it so much that it’s had to come indoors to keep growing through the winter. Alternatively colocasias can be allowed to die down and be started into growth again in spring.

Hedychium ‘Verity’ – recommended to me by The Salutation’s Steve Edney, this ginger is a real find. Most gingers have very similar foliage, but ‘Verity’ has leaves arranged in a neat herringbone pattern and striped with ivory, verging on cream. I don’t really care what the flowers look like, but kept indoors over winter, slightly on the dry side, it may produce fragrant, peachy blooms.

Zantedeschia ‘Hercules’ – the size of this calla lily is something to behold. It’s a monster! An individual, silver-spotted leaf might measure 3ft in length and the fragrant, white flowers can be carried 6ft above the ground. I did not help mine by falling on it half way through the season (hence no photograph of my own) although it has recovered well now. Would be happy in an unheated porch or bedroom through the winter, provided it’s well watered.

Monstera deliciosa ‘Albovariegata’ – the mother of all naff 70’s plants, the cheese plant, only in variegated form. The foliage can vary from all-white to all-green with every variation in between, including half and half, splashed and freckled. Mine is still a small, 5-leaved baby, but it will grow steadily over winter and be able to fend for itself in the garden by next summer.

I’d love to hear which house plants you put outside in summer and how they grow for you. The bigger and brighter the better! TFG.

Lead Image – Plectranthus argentatus, Aeonium ‘Zwartkop’, Tradescantia ‘Purple Sabre’ and Begonia ‘Benitochiba’ in the Gin and Tonic Garden at The Watch House in 2016.

The problem with owning a garden dominated by evergreens and tropicals is that I don’t really get to experience autumn colour at home. My garden morphs quickly from fabulous full summer to winter green, pretty much when I get around making it happen. This year, during one of many moments of impulse, I purchased a columnar Liquidambar named ‘Slender Silhouette’. The tree was already a decent size and has been challenging to grow in a pot. All through summer, despite being potted on twice, my Liquidambar demanded a huge amount of watering effort, not a task I wish to repeat next year. Note to self: trees are meant to grow in the ground.

I was recommended an ericaceous (acidic) compost to enhance my Liquidambar’s autumn colouration but was rewarded only with a good, strong yellow for a couple of days before the leaves fell. Since I was at work, I witnessed both events in the dark.

I stashed my newer and younger gingers in the workshop last weekend, leaving larger tubs of H. ‘Sorung’ and H. ‘Stephen’ outside. Cold weather prompts the stems to sever themselves from the rhizomes that fuelled their growth through summer. When they are ready, and not before, they snap off neatly, emitting a crisp-yet-spicy fragrance.

I am away in Cornwall this weekend so I photographed my gingers earlier this week, just as they were starting to turn yellow. They’ve never looked this good before, but therein lies the benefit of growing any plant en masse. I have stopped watering my gingers now since they are naturally going into hibernation. Next weekend I shall pop the tops off and store the rhizome-packed pots at the back of the workshop, where they will be cool and dry until April.

Wishing you all a wonderful weekend. TFG.

I have never enjoyed going to the dentist (that would be perverse), but equally I’ve never feared the experience either. Generally my twice-yearly visits involve a lot of tense gaping, followed by a gentle telling-off from the dentist about not doing something or other correctly: flossing / brushing / biting / eating / gargling ….. delete as appropriate. Over time I’ve concluded that trying to please my dentist is about as possible as satisfying a personal trainer (if I had one): trying one’s best is never going to be good enough.

During a recent checkup the chastising stepped up a gear. Apparently I have been brushing too hard, not using my interdental bushes frequently enough (actually not at all, but I wasn’t admitting that) and biting my food incorrectly. Who knew there was a correct way to bite food? Both dentist and hygienist managed to shake up a cocktail of despair and condescension, garnished with a brutal assessment of the future prospects for my gnashers. I return tomorrow for two minor fillings at a cost I cannot reconcile with the cursory length of my appointment. But then, who ever met a poor dentist? In an act of dirty protest I went to bed that night without brushing my teeth. I did not feel better for it in the morning.

Truth is, my hectic lifestyle is neither good for my teeth or the rest of my body. I eat and drink erratically and badly. I live out of a suitcase and am too knackered at the end of the day to be pushing miniature pipe cleaners into the gaps between my teeth (although never too tired to tend to my plants). I will regret not doing so one day, just as I will regret drinking too much wine, eating too many ready meals, not saving, not visiting Syria before the war, not learning to play the piano, not cultivating a six pack etc. etc. One can only do so much.

Meanwhile it’s turned cold in the east of England this week. In preparation I retired all my tropicals to the workshop last weekend. Here they will overwinter in frost-free gloom. Gingers and bananas are not actively growing at this time of year, so require very little light to keep them going. I rather enjoy standing alongside my giant green friends as I pot up bulbs, listen to The Archers and make plans for next year. The garden looks vast and empty without them all, but it’s a good opportunity to jet-wash the courtyard and tidy my raised beds. Rummaging among the foliage I discover that narcissi are beginning to stick their little green beaks above the ground, a clear sign that spring is only months away. Will we experience another biting winter, or will the weather be kind to us? Who knows? At least I know how to look after my plants ….. TFG.