Tag Archives: garden writing

And the winner is…

27 Friday Nov 2015

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I have never, ever seen so many glasses on one table before…

I am usually to be found in very muddy jeans and a sweatshirt of doubtful origin, my nails black and not a shred of makeup anywhere near my face. Usually, bum up nose down in a vegetable bed.

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All dressed up and somewhere to go… Naomi Slade and Natalie Ashbee at the pre-dinner drinky-poos

Yesterday, however, I had mascara on. And I was clean. And – get this – in a Karen Millen dress and heels.

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Chandeliers a go-go… the ballroom at the Savoy

For it was the Garden Media Guild Awards: the one and only day I ever get dressed up (and that includes Christmas Day). It is glitzy and glamorous beyond the wildest dreams of a humble gardener like me. And I go every year, just to kid myself I’m the kind of person who goes to dine in the Savoy and gets awards and stuff.

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The food was pretty damn good too… smoked duck, goat’s cheese, marinated beetroot and a walnut vinaigrette. And that was just the starter.

It’s not only a great chance to catch up with old friends but also a chance to meet new people: every year I’m on a table with someone interesting I’ve never met before (even if I might know them by reputation).

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Dunno who that bloke in the middle is. He gets everywhere though.

This year it was the outstanding garden photographer Clive Nichols and his lovely assistant Julie (doesn’t that make them sound like a magician’s act…! I suspect Julie rarely allows herself to be chopped in half though, literally or magically).

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Our host for the evening: David Domoney in full flow

And on the other side of me was Jan Miller-Klein, holder of the National Collection of Eupatorium (aka Joe Pye weed), passionate wildlife gardener and all round inspirational lady.

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… and some other bloke got up and joined him too

Awards were handed out like sweeties: the biggest congratulations go to The English Garden (Garden Publication of the Year), Jurgen Becker (Garden Photographer of the Year) and Ambra Edwards (Journalist of the Year).

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The incredibly talented nurserywoman and plantswoman extraordinaire Claire Austin winning Reference Book of the Year for ‘Claire Austin’s Book of Perennials’

And a special mention to Adrian Bloom, this year’s winner of the Lifetime Achievement Award and a thoroughly nice chap as well as the kind of nurseryman I think every person who grows plants for a living should aspire to be.

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Adrian Bloom, very worthy winner of the Lifetime Achievement Award

There’s a full list of all the award winners here.

 

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Reports of the death of this blog may be exaggerated…

02 Monday Nov 2015

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The garden blog is dead.

So I’ve been told: not least by those nice people at Crocus who tell me that vlogging, or just video in general, is where it’s at now (and I must admit my year of making how-to videos for them, has given me and my shoot/editing husband a whole new sideline). Not to mention short-form social media like Twitter and Facebook.

Well: I kind of agree. The old days are over: when we would laugh out loud at the erudite rantings of Nigel Colborn over on Silvertreedaze before meandering over to see how James was doing at Blackpitts and dropping by Victoria’s back yard. And I would hope you’d also dig a fork into the crumbly rich soil at the Kitchen Garden blog I wrote for Crocus for many a year. All blogs which have had their day.

Other blogs have just become rather intermittent: this one, of course (I think I may have won the prize for intermittent-ness, if there is such a thing), and other favourites like Bifurcated Carrots, Otter Farm and the inimitable Arabella Sock.

Of course part of that is just life: both Victoria and James have simply moved house and taken up new blogs elsewhere: Victoria’s new place is at Awkward Hill while James is busy creating (and writing about) a new garden too.

And others are flying the flag nobly for the blogosphere: VP, The Patient Gardener, Naomi Schillinger at Out of my Shed and My Tiny Plot (among others), I salute you.

I don’t want to sound like I’m chiding anyone for not posting often enough: goodness, that would be a surfeit of pots, kettles and the black stuff coming from me. But I do feel that our little garden blogging community has sort of wandered off to do other things.

From my own point of view, I know it’s all about time. I have been writing a book this year, and it’s sucked up every last second of my time, thrown all my other deadlines out of synch and made ‘voluntary’ writing such as this blog all but impossible to justify when children, husbands and animals are clamouring for my slightly distracted attention too.

But if I’m honest, I was already finding it difficult to motivate myself before I even started the bookywook: mainly because when you write a blog post, you no longer get those feisty conversations striking up in the comments section as they’re all on Twitter now. Which is lovely, and I do enjoy Twitter, but there’s nothing to cement a community more than having a good ding-dong in the comments section of a blog post.

So you can feel like you’re writing into the void a little these days. And then there’s the all-pervasive influence of video, and photos (Instagram and Pinterest, stand up and be counted).

I’m not sure I have any conclusion here: just a reflection on the state of things and how a cosy world I loved being part of feels like it’s passed on. And how I’m a little sad about that.

Still, having just raised my head above the parapet after putting the last full stop on the book, my first feeling is that I’m really missing blogging. It’s a kind of writing I don’t get to do very often: the closest I get is with my cherished column for The Garden where I get to write pretty much whatever I want to write, which is a huge privilege and great pleasure.

So we’ll see. If I can summon the discipline, I may kick off by joining Helen in the hideously named NaBloPoMo (late, of course – well I don’t want to break the habits of a lifetime). And we’ve got the Garden Media Guild Awards coming up, in which the Best Blog award is still very much up for grabs and still hotly contested. I’m not entering this year – can’t really justify it at all – but I’m thinking maybe next year. It feels like the time to start blogging again. So perhaps reports of the death of the garden blog are greatly exaggerated. What do you think?

A writerly word, if I may

30 Sunday Aug 2009

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Well, fancy that. I am a little bemused but flattered to say I’ve been tagged by VP over in Chippenham, with a meme for garden writers.

Well, having spent most of the weekend trying frantically to catch up on at least one or two of the 101 articles I’ve been asked to squeeze in between trips to Thorpe Park and other such ungardenly things during the kids’ summer holidays, I guess that pretty accurately describes me. So – here goes:

Which words do you use too much in your writing?
Oh dear – every word that was roundly Colborned last month. Stunning and lovely being the worst offenders. I have since his post however tried my best to censor such inanities and instead work in an “orgasmic” or two somewhere. Haven’t managed it yet, but give me time.

Which words do you consider overused in stuff you read?
I refer the honourable member to my previous answer.

What’s your favourite piece of writing by you?
Oh my word, what a question. I can list several features I’ve enjoyed writing – the one on cutting gardens for Period Ideas, for instance, or several very nice interviews I’ve been sent on by the Richmond Magazine. Or nearly all my posts on this blog, which are really a dreadful indulgence which no real writer should be allowing themselves. But since I almost always agonise over every bit of writing I ever do, I don’t think I can pick one out that I could call an actual favourite. Sorry.

What blog post do you wish you’d written?
Nearly every single one by James The Hat. I am insanely jealous.

Regrets, do you have a few? Is there anything you wish you hadn’t written?
I did some gardening product reviews once for a now-defunct online womens’ lifestyle ezine with an unhealthy interest in making things sexy which I’d rather forget, thank you.

How has your writing made a difference?
I don’t have a clue if it’s made a difference to anyone else, though I hope so, somewhere. But (and I risk becoming maudlin and sentimental here) it has made all the difference in the world to me, and my kids, who now get to see me as much as they like (more or less) and have a cheerful and muddy mummy instead of a ground-down dead-end job mummy. And I’m earning a living. It doesn’t get much better than that.

Name three favourite words
“Aquamarine”, “translucent”, “surreptitious” .

…And three words you’re not so keen on
“Sustainable”, “naturalistic”, “slug”.

Do you have a writing mentor, role model or inspiration?
It’s really a list of garden writers I admire and would one day like to emulate, even if just a little. Christopher Lloyd (of course); Monty Don (I shall hereby duck the rotten tomatoes: but sorry, I like the man, and I especially like the way he writes). And Frank Ronan in Gardens Illustrated.

What’s your writing ambition?
To keep doing what I’m doing for as long as possible and avoid anyone finding me out.

Plug alert! List any work you would like to tell your readers about:
I’ve just started writing for the Kew Magazine. And they’re sending me on some really plum assignments to write Proper Features – a little daunting, but very satisfying.

Now I think I’m supposed to pick out four of my own favourite writers which is a horribly difficult task: not only are there too many to whittle down to four, but VP has already nicked some of my favourites herself and I don’t think it’s the done thing to double-meme people.

But anyway, I’ll do what I can: here are four taggees (now there’s an ugly word) selected at random from those whose writing I particularly admire and would like to hear more about:

Nigel Colborn (yes, I know I’ve mentioned him already)
Martyn Cox
Lila Das Gupta
Nancy Bond
Arabella Sock

The Wisley glasshouse

15 Friday Jun 2007

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One of the great privileges I have with my garden writers’ hat on is that I get to go to sneak previews – and last night I went along to the unveiling of the new glasshouse at RHS Wisley, which opens to the public for the first time today.

Since I’m such a regular visitor to Wisley, I’ve been watching this amazing structure going up gradually over the years, and went along to another press bash in February to see it as the planting went in – well, then it was almost entirely under water after a winter of torrential rain, and we were all taking bets on whether it would be ready in time to open.

We needn’t have worried. It’s quite amazing what they’ve done in the four months since then: it still looks very “new”, and the planting outside (designed by Tom Stuart-Smith) is just in so will take some to show what it’s made of: but inside it is breathtaking. It’s going to be wonderful watching it grow over the months and years to come.


Here it is: a little stark, perhaps, until the exterior landscaping develops, but a remarkable structure nonetheless. It was designed in Holland, and doubles-up as a water collection system.


At the centre is a magnificent waterfall – you walk behind it as you pass from the temperate side into the tropical. The rock is artificial, and hides a “root zone” exhibit underneath.


There were orchids in the palm trees: I wasn’t quite sure if they were there for our benefit, or if they’re going to stay! They looked fantastic, anyway.


And then there were the plants… these Philodendron leaves were up to two feet long and that soft, velvety texture was so utterly gorgeous. And this is just a baby plant…


Outside in Cleve West’s teaching garden, there were loads of great ideas – I’m going to nick this fantastic birch-log path for the jungle area around my pond.

Tulips again!

15 Monday Jan 2007

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I’m currently reading Anna Pavord’s “The Tulip” – it’s been around for a while, but I thought since I’ve spent much of last autumn planting over 100 tulips in my own garden it was about time I found out about them.

What a lovely book. It’s quite heavy-going, I find, largely because the scholardship is so dense: but once you’ve got into it, you can’t help but be drawn in by the extraordinary story of this unique flower.

It’s evident from the first page how well-educated Anna Pavord is: I’d always suspected it of her, but now I have proof that she not only speaks French, but 17th century French at that: the only trouble is she does rather assume her readership is as erudite as she is, and leaves great passages untranslated. I’m lucky enough to speak near-fluent modern French – but I find this is beyond me.

Never mind: it’s not necessary to enjoy the book. It’s full of little amazements: did you know, for example, that the French had their own version of tulipomania a full century or so before the Dutch? Or that the Turkish, who began the tulip craze, spurned the traditional European goblet shape (or more accurately, didn’t even consider it in the first place) for the acutely waisted shapes only seen these days in Parrot tulips and the like?

Anna Pavord is one of those people who has always existed in the horticultural firmament. I can only wish I were half as good – or indeed as successful – a garden writer as she. I can’t make out a professional gardening connection, but she’s one of the best kind of gardeners: that is, one who has learned her craft through her own personal experience. She spent 30 years restoring a garden in Dorset before moving and starting again. She made her name with this book, though she has several others to her name, all sharing her particular brand of intelligence and insight. She just seems to be a true enthusiast and scholar of all things garden-related.

It’s made me see tulips in an entirely different light. I’m looking forward to my spring blooms all the more for reading this: a whole new layer of knowledge and pleasure to add to what I hope will be a wonderful display.