I have a new torch and I don’t mind admitting I am rather taken with it. The last one was indestructible but about as useful as a chocolate teapot, emitting a feeble yellow light even at close quarters. It consumed batteries at an alarming rate, going flat at precisely the moment it was needed. All-in-all, useless, unless employed for clubbing an intruder or propping the front door open, only one of which I attempted. Shopping for a replacement revealed that torch technology has come on in leaps and bounds. The new model is light, flat (hence it fits in my back pocket) and powered by LEDs so bright they could blind a wildebeest at 50 paces. Consider then how stunned the vine weevils I set out to squish on Saturday night must have been when I shone the bright white light on their ugly black bodies. Not so invisible now are you, you little blighters?

Perhaps my new torch is helping me to win the war against my root and leaf munching foe, because this weekend I could hardly spot a single vine weevil in the undergrowth. Craving alternative satisfaction, I decided to experiment with taking flower portraits using the torch as a supplementary iPhone flash. The results are hardly professional, but sufficiently dramatic for me to post them here for your interest. LED light can be quite cold, yet most colours have come out fairly well. Like the thoroughbred plant she is, D. ‘American Dawn’ (top and bottom of post) photographs well in any conditions. With practice I think I could take better shots, but, vine weevils be warned, if you see the flashlight coming it’s not time for hair and make up – prepare to meet your maker!

My Uni-Com 24 LED worklight (posh name for a torch) is available from the indispensable Harrington’s in Broadstairs and from Robert Dyas.

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Had we opened our seaside garden on the usual weekend, this is the scene that would have greeted our visitors. Not bad, even if I do say so myself. Instead, we spent the weekend in London, celebrating Him Indoors’ birthday and not worrying about deadheading or watering for a change. At Polegate Cottage, the garden I left behind looked very much like a set from Saving Private Ryan. In three weeks’ time this is where we will be serving teas – let’s hope the waste pipes are safely back underground by then! Alas it seems we might not have our French windows delivered in time, so those classy plywood doors will perform the role of serving hatch. We like to do things properly in Broadstairs you know. When asked by the builder if I wanted to keep “any of the good soil” he’d excavated, you can imagine my reply.

Now I have to work out how to keep the plants going so that they look just as good in three weeks’ time. Dahlias, geraniums and begonias I don’t need to worry about; they will just get better and better as summer progresses. Gingers will do as they please. Most flower once, and briefly at that, so if they are out they are out, and if they are over, there’s nothing to be done about it. Hedychium yunnanense, a ginger with beautiful green leaves and fragrant, spidery, white flowers, has clumped up a treat since I purchased it last year and has produced five spikes already. Meanwhile H. ‘Tara’ is only just throwing up new shoots and getting into its stride.

I love gloriosas but have never been brave enough to grow them outdoors. Their tender leaves and ruffled flowers have “eat me” written all over them. However, this year I decided to take the plunge and buy a few new tubers, which I started into growth in the greenhouse before dotting them amongst other plants in pots on the terrace. This has worked well as these twining vines are tall and slender, peeking out above the canopy and looking totally tropical. Only time will tell if they escape being devoured by hungry slugs and snails.

My agapanthus have produced a disappointingly low number of flower spikes this year, about half what I’d normally expect. This can only be down to lack of sunlight as they are treated to a generous dose of a special agapanthus feed every fortnight. Given the profusion of alternative flowers it hardly seems to matter and they still create a hazy galaxy of blue above all the rowdier colours.

Whatever happens it’s going to be a rather unusual and unorthodox garden opening this year. Perhaps instead of teas we should be selling bags of our “good soil”, or offering lessons in bricklaying instead of gardening tips. Either way I’m sure it’ll be a hoot!

Our garden at The Watch House will be open from 12-4 on Saturday, August 20th and Sunday, August 21st. Click here for more details on the NGS website.

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Twelve days to go and preparation for this year’s garden opening feels like one of those bad dreams where, try as one may, one never reach the finishing line. I can usually let go of the reins a little during August, but with the opening happening at the end of the month I have to keep it looking pristine for what feels like an eternity. Gardens Illustrated could arrive on my doorstep at any given moment and I’d be ready, not a leaf or petal out of place. The Bank Holiday cannot come soon enough.

Hindrance number two (number one being the builders, who have had enough air time already) was a tummy upset. This brought down my usual cast-iron defences and exiled me to bed for the early part of last week. When one is busy it’s amazing just how disruptive a couple of days out of action can be. Feeling rough, I limped back to Broadstairs on Wednesday evening to quickly sweep up, water and inspect two very large, remote-controlled Velux windows that had been installed in the roof of our new garden room. I am not your typical gadget man but am nevertheless easily impressed by anything that has a sleek little box to control it. When the windows might be operational is anyone’s guess: November has even been mentioned, which does not bear thinking about.

After another prolonged cold spring I reckon the garden is only a week behind last year. This is a help rather than a hitch. My bellwether is always Hedychium ‘Stephen’, a ginger that I ruthlessly divided this spring lest it burst out from the sides of its black plastic tubs. I now have six huge plants in place of the original three and they are in rude health, some approaching 8ft tall. All are coming into flower right now, precisely seven days later than last year. I so wish it were possible to transmit scent via the Intranet. Alas the flowers last only a few days, so they will be gone before our visitors arrive. H. yunnanense started and finished blooming in the space of a week, which is one of the drawbacks of not being at home every day to experience these fleeting events in nature’s unpredictable timetable. Next will be peach and coral H. ‘Sorung’, flowering for the first time at The Watch House.

A disappointing lack of flowers in the main border is something I have to address, but a lack of colour is more than compensated for by the pots that are slowly taking over the terrace. I was bemused to discover a new dahlia, named ‘Darkarin’, sporting pure white flowers instead of the rich burgundy blooms I was expecting. Then another opened the correct colour with a highly pronounced Mallen Streak, making me think I may have purchased a rogue tuber. It’s curious rather than pretty and will perhaps settle down, producing solid red flowers once it gets going. Him Indoors is happy as he likes white flowers and they don’t generally have a place in my summer planting schemes.

Meanwhile D. ‘Totally Tangerine’ is proving to have lots of flower power and D. ‘Mambo’ is pleasing me much more than ‘Blue Bayou’, which I find a little too heavy in the centre of the bloom.

Officially the garden at Polegate Cottage was handed back to us in a usable state this weekend, although a good downpour is required to shift the dust from the surface of the paving stones. I tried, in vain, to make something of it using plants purchased for 50p from the local garden centre. I have green rather than magic fingers and am not sure anyone is going to be convinced by a load of pot-bound begonias shoved quickly into containers. Hopefully points might be awarded for trying.

I endeavour to find a positive in the most challenging of situations so I’ve suggested to Him Indoors that we theme our teas this year around construction: builders’ tea, rock buns, fruit slab and something I have just invented called an RSJ cake, which is a Victoria sponge with raspberry and strawberry jam inside. Any other suggestions to expand on this theme would be most gratefully received. And, if the lyrics of Europe’s 1986 No. 1 hit are still running through your head, all I can say is that I’m very sorry.

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Do come at visit us at The Watch House today, 12-4, and the same again tomorrow. If you aren’t able, please enjoy this three minute video. Have a lovely weekend whatever you are up to.

Day two of our garden opening is always a more relaxed affair and I am thoroughly looking forward to it. On day one the rain absented itself, but the wind did not. At times yesterday it gusted so hard that I got lost in a blizzard of white begonia flowers cascading from the shelves of our outdoor kitchen. Along with the begonias, many plants did not enjoy the thrashing, but all will bounce back, some already producing fresh flowers this morning.

Garden lovers are hardy folk and it seems few were perturbed by the bracing conditions. We welcomed almost 100 visitors in our first four hours, many of whom were returning for the second or third time. It’s so enjoyable to stand in my little corner of the garden pointing out plants and chatting about the garden: everyone wants to talk, which suits me well. The stars of the show, and there are always a few, were the red-barked Santa Cruz Ironwood tree (Lyonothamnus floribundus ssp. aspleniifolius), a Californian evergreen accustomed to exposed conditions, and Aeonium ‘Zwartkop’, which has formed particularly tall, black rosettes this summer. In a forthcoming post I will list sources for some of our most popular plants for those who are interested to try them out.

In the meantime, if you were not able to get to us yesterday, please do come today. I will risk being accused of blowing my own trumpet, if only to raise more money for the National Garden Scheme, by quoting one very generous visitor from whom this is an particular compliment:

“Just home after a first visit to this exhilarating garden, for anyone who has the chance to go don’t miss it. Look up, down, beneath and behind you and you will see a plant, and a very good one, flourishing. You couldn’t add another in or take one away. This verdant freshness as summer fades away is glorious. you will leave feeling full of joy.”

That sort of reaction makes all the effort worthwhile.

The Watch House, 7 Thanet Road, Broadstairs, is open today, Sunday 21st August 2016, from 12-4 with fine teas served at 3, Polegate Cottage.

It did not take long to go to sleep last night. After a weekend of baking, talking, entertaining, watering, meeting, greeting, fetching and carrying we were both absolutely shattered. 180 lovely people came to visit the garden; not a record, but we value quality above quantity and we certainly achieved that. At the final count we had raised £886 for charity, which is the most in the three years we’ve been supporting the National Gardens Scheme. Thank you to everyone who took time to look, chat and enjoy a cup of tea and a slice of cake.

I know may people would like to have come that were not able to, so, first thing this morning, in my dressing gown and slippers (there’s a vision for you!), I recorded another short video highlighting the plants that received the most attention from visitors. Completely unrehearsed, and with some minor blips, this is as close as I can bring you to the real thing.

Off now to prepare for the arrival of my niece. No rest for the wicked!

Plants mentioned in the video are as follows:

1. Streptocarpus saxorum
2. Fuchsia ‘Dark Delicious’
3. Tweedia caerulea
4. Aeonium ‘Zwartkop’
5. Tibouchina urvilleana ‘Variegata’
6. Hedychium ‘Stephen’
7. Lyonothamnus floribundus ssp. aspleniifolius
8. Isoplexis sceptrum (Digitalis sceptrum)
9. Fuchsia splendens
10. Dahlia ‘Amercian Dawn’
11. Gloriosa rothschildiana
12. Rhodochiton atrosanguineus
13. Passiflora x violacea ‘Victoria’
14. Begonia ‘Bossa Nova White’
15. Dahlia ‘Labyrinth’, D. ‘Dubonnet’ and D. ‘American Dawn’

Crithmum maritimum: rock samphire, sea fennel, sea asparagus, sea bean, sea pickle, crest marine

“There is a cliff whose high and bending head looks fearfully in the confined deep… The crows and choughs that wing the midway air scarce so gross as beetles; halfway down hangs one that gathers samphire, dreadful trade!”

William Shakespeare

Revelling in the scorching hot weather this week is this tough inhabitant of chalk cliffs described in by The Bard in King Lear. Rock samphire is a scrambling succulent, unrelated to better-known marsh samphire, which is slowly finding its way back into culinary use after a century spent in obscurity.

When bruised or broken the leaves emit a distinct aroma of lemon oil. The raw leaves have a strong carroty taste which is much more potent than marsh samphire. Later in the season the seed pods can be pickled and used as a substitute for capers, just as the Victorians enjoyed them, served with quails’ eggs.

Although rock samphire may occasionally be found on the shore line, one is more likely to spot it sprouting from fissures high up the cliff face. Being an excellent, free source of Vitamin C (it contains 30 times the concentration of the vitamin C compared to an orange) it was regularly harvested from the British coastline and transported to market in London where it was sometimes ‘cut’ with cheaper marsh samphire to make it go further. In those days it would have been known as ‘crest marine’, a name concocted very much with marketing in mind.

Four hundred years later chefs are once again turning to rock samphire for its unique, carrot-cum-parsley flavour and warm, aromatic taste. It can be steamed, stir-fried, used sparingly in salads and sushi, or pickled and served with smoked eggs, winkles and beer. There are even gins flavoured with rock samphire, including one of my favourites, Curio, made in Cornwall. Aficionados recommend simply steaming like asparagus and serving with lemon juice, butter and cracked black pepper, or coated with a hollandaise sauce. Both suggestions sound delicious.

Along Broadstairs’ cliffs we have rock samphire in abundance, much of it growing at conveniently harvestable levels. The antler-shaped fronds are a little past their best now, but I can’t resist plucking a few as I walk by in order to enjoy the zesty fragrance concentrated by the summer sun. It’s a pretty plant to boot, growing neatly and producing flowery umbels throughout the growing season. In England the Wildlife and Countryside Act 1981 made it illegal to gather rock samphire plants from the wild. If you are lucky enough to find a colony, harvest it in a sustainable way, picking just a few stems from each plant. Never pull the plant up from the roots.

If you’ve had first hand experience of cooking with rock samphire, or have discovered it on a menu in a trendy restaurant, I’d love to hear about it.

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Part of any gardener’s skill set is judging when enough is enough; that point where exuberance and gay abandon tip over into a top-heavy, over-blown mess. If pruning, cutting back or hedge trimming is not tackled at the right time it can be difficult, time-consuming or even impossible to get some plants back into shape, and in the meantime they may smother their neighbours. My advice is to delay no longer than you must in order to do the right thing by the plant and its companions. There are right and wrong times to pick up a pair of shears or secateurs, but it’s not nearly as complex and daunting as many gardening books might have you believe.

I’d like to think I am fairly good at anticipating the right time at which to intervene in a plant’s natural development, but sometimes it takes an unexpected event to prod me into action. Earlier this week a non-gardening neighbour informed me that they would be getting their flat roof replaced and that several of my plants were causing an obstruction to the work. This was both true and a deliberate move to disguise myriad air conditioning units and ugly aerials. My first reaction was to feel rather aggrieved by the imposition and then anxious about the damage that might be caused to my precious plants. When I looked objectively at the mounds of Trachelospermum jasminoides rollicking across the leaky roof, I realised that the only genuinely attractive portion of the climber no longer resided in my own garden. Instead, all I could see was a tangled mass of hard brown stems supporting the best part of the plant several metres away.

Under threat of the roofers taking matters into their own hands and dumping the cuttings on top of my gingers, I decided to tackle the pruning myself. Brandishing perilously sharp Okatsune secateurs I clambered to the back of my raised beds and started cutting. I had planned to take a slow and meticulous approach, which indeed I did, but discovered more fresh new growth on the trachelospermum’s lower portions than anticipated. I took the plunge and decided to remove the majority of the knotty old growth to let the plant rejuvenate itself. This has revealed a thin slither of mellow brick wall that I have not seen in years and will allow me to re-paint part of the cladding that surrounds the courtyard. What’s more, it will admit more sun into the garden and lessen the rain shadow in that part of the bed.

Although I prepared myself thoroughly for the task in hand, I was quickly reminded of the precautions one should take when tackling serious pruning or trimming after promptly stabbing myself in the forefinger with my secateurs:

1. Wear gloves, preferably gauntlet style if you’re in short sleeves. This is a piece of advice I take reluctantly, as I much prefer doing most jobs with my bare hands.
2. Don safety glasses: climbers in particular move in mysterious ways and can literally take your eye out as they flail about.
3. Look at what you are doing and take your time: this may sound obvious, but it’s easy to get distracted and stab yourself in the thumb, or worse. Don’t rush the job.
4. Limber up first: heavy pruning can be strenuous work involving muscles that one doesn’t often exercise. Do some gentle activity first to get yourself warmed up, ensure you have a firm footing and take breaks in between sessions. Your back and limbs will thank you the next day.
5. If using electrical equipment, be especially careful and always use a circuit breaker.
6. When using a ladder, make sure it has a firm footing and never go higher than you feel comfortable with.

Now is a good time to prune hedges, evergreens, perennials and climbers that flower on new growth, provided they have finished blooming. Hedges are unlikely to grow much more and should maintain a crisp, neat outline through the winter. Perennials will often produce mounds of fresh foliage during the autumn months if they are tackled now. Something to note with trachelospermum is that it produces a white sticky sap when cut – this is not considered poisonous but may cause a reaction on sensitive skin and can stain paving and clothing.

My biggest challenge is what to do with all the woody prunings. We have no compost heap and no green waste collection, so they will have to go to the tip in the car. Him Indoors will be pleased!

In my experience the decision to prune is rarely the wrong one. Even if you are initially alarmed by the plant’s reduced size, provided it has been pruned correctly and at the right time it will quickly recover and give its neighbours a fighting chance. In the garden space is a virtue and plants will always fill a void. A gardener’s gift is not just to fill space, but to create and maintain it.

I’d love to hear what jobs you are tackling over the Bank Holiday weekend, or if you are just sitting back and enjoying the fruits of your labours.

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At 8.30 this morning I had the pleasure of showing Margie, Helen and Sarah from our fantastic local gift shop around the garden at The Watch House. Being a retailer myself I appreciate that weekends are not always available for doing as one pleases: customers must come first. We arranged a pre-opening tour and the weather was absolutely perfect for it; still and cool, with not a cloud in the sky. We enjoyed large mugs of strong Assam tea served from an outsized Russian teapot which is impossible to carry in one hand. We talked about history, plants and books: I could not think of a nicer way to start my day.

My charming visitors described the garden as ‘an inspiration’, which I took as a compliment. Having been away all week I could only see everything that wasn’t right, so it was lovely to get feedback from people who were either too oblivious or too kind to mention it.

Occasionally in the space of a week certain plants will go berserk whilst others decide to sulk. Oddly it’s the dahlias that seem to be on the dejected side at the moment. A few have started to succumb to red spider mite whilst other have a mysterious leaf-curling disease. At this time of year I find it’s better to let these things run their course rather than fight against them, removing only the most disfigured leaves: the tubers will produce perfectly healthy foliage again next season. Meanwhile Colocasia esculenta ‘Black Magic’, below left, which has failed to conjure up any of the promised dark leaves, has been taking steroids. On Monday it was shorter than the aeonium growing next to it and by Saturday the aeonium was almost invisible. I put this down to daily watering the week we were on holiday which has clearly promoted a growth spurt. The problem is that everything else now looks a bit puny in comparison.

We have received no proper rain for several weeks and the plants in the raised bed are parched. I rarely bother to get the hose out but when drought-tolerant plants start to wilt it’s time to take action. It was a pleasure to watch the water droplets sparkle like diamonds as they cascaded from the spray gun onto dry, thirsty foliage. Watering in the sunshine, although strictly not to be recommended, is a treat for all the senses. I can’t share the complete experience with you, but here’s something for your eyes and ears to enjoy:

Within a few moments everything had perked up marvellously, just as it does in the tropics. The removal of the climbers at the back of the border last weekend has already allowed a lot more light in and I can see bronze and burgundy foliage colours becoming stronger by the day. The irony is that whenever I resort to using a hose it promptly rains. The downpours that have been promised have not materialised and instead there’s a thin hesitant mizzle in the air. Useful only for coaxing the slugs and snails out, hopeless for creating a splash.

Wishing  you a wonderful weekend in your garden. TFG.

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I like bees, but I love bumblebees more. The sight of their comedically cumbersome bodies ambling across an umbel, or alighting delicately on a gossamer-thin petal never fails to amuse me. Bumblebees are amiable little creatures, disinclined to harass or sting humans, unlike some of their close relatives. They live in small colonies and tend not to swarm or make a general make a nuisance of themselves. And they are useful to boot, pollinating flowers that even the bravest honeybee cannot tackle.

According to the Bumblebee Conservation Trust, the population of bumblebees in Britain has plummeted over the last eighty years. Two species have become extinct nationally and several others have declined dramatically. The blame for this collapse is mainly laid at the farmer’s door. Changing agricultural practices after WWII, especially the introduction of pesticides and the removal of flower-rich hedgerows, started the decline, but nurserymen and gardeners have also played a part. Over-hybridised flowers with complex double flowers or sterile blooms deprive bees of access to the pollen that they crave. Enlightened gardeners are waking up to the notion that single, uncomplicated flowers are not only more natural to look at, but also much more welcoming to pollinators.

Bumblebees are brilliantly adapted to pollination, a function which if not fulfilled would bring the natural world to a grinding halt. First of all, their disproportionately large bodies are covered in dense hairs which are forked at the tip. These help bumblebees to gather and transport pollen between flowers, pollinating as they go. Different species are equipped with different tongue lengths which are adapted to feed from different types of flower. Short tongues probe flowers with short corollas (the tube that leads to the nectar), leaving species with longer appendages to forage from more complex flowers with long corollas. This is why encouraging lots of biodiversity to your garden is so important. Finally, bumblebees are uniquely able to ‘buzz pollinate’. This involves them contracting their flight muscles to create strong, rapid vibrations which literally shake the pollen from a flower’s anthers, even if the flower is unwilling to give it up. If you listen carefully to a bumblebee ensconced in a particularly pollen-rich flower you will often hear this happening and see the bee dusted with its plunder. Crops such as tomatoes rely on this type of pollination to produce a good crop of fruit.

Bumblebees are social insects, living in nests of up to 400 individuals. A nest is led by a queen and exists for just one year. In contrast, honeybee hives may remain active for several years. In early spring the queen emerges from hibernation to start a new nest. Her first task is to build up her energy reserves so it’s really important that she can find plenty of pollen and nectar-rich flowers. This explains why the first bumblebees you will see in your garden on a warm February day tend to be super-sized – you are enjoying a right royal visit! Once the queen has found a suitable nest site she will rear her first batch of eggs. These will hatch to produce a group of female workers whose job it is to feed and nurture the colony. This process is repeated throughout the summer with the queen rarely leaving the nest. Towards the end of the summer the queen produces male offspring, along with new queens. After mating the males, which have lead in their pencil but no sting in their tail, die off, as do the old queens and workers. Only new, fertilised queens survive to hibernate through the winter and establish their own nests the following year.

If you want to attract more bumblebees to your garden there are a few simple things you can do. Firstly plan a succession of flowers starting from spring, right through to the end of summer. Bumblebee queens emerge very early in spring so greet them with some bright crocuses or forsythia which are easy to spot and packed with pollen. During summer, foxgloves, single roses, lavender, veronicastrums, teasels and a host of other flowers will sustain the burgeoning bumblebee population. In autumn, sedums, golden rod (solidago), cosmos, zinnias, Michaelmas daisies and nerines will help to fatten up the new queens for winter. Avoid double flowers where the anthers are hidden or even absent, and any varieties which are sterile (i.e. Don’t produce seeds). Pansies, begonias and double dahlias are especially unhelpful when it comes to attracting useful insects to the garden. Single flowers with large central bosses, such as daisies, and those with a profusion of flowers, such as the umbels, are perfect food factories for bees of all kinds.

Bumblebees tend to be ground or wall dwelling and, whilst nesting boxes can be provided in both situations, bees will be perfectly happy to find their own quarters provided you leave an undisturbed space in a dry shady corner of the garden. Insecticides should be employed minimally or not at all and should never be applied during the day when bees are actively foraging.

My observation in my own garden is that bumblebees and hoverflies now greatly outnumber honeybees. This seems to be borne out in other gardens I visit too. It’s tragic that any of these precious insects should be in decline as they provide gardeners and humankind in general with a service that would be impossible to replicate otherwise. Furthermore, what joy could there be in a garden without the comforting hum of bees going diligently about their work? We all have our part to play in reversing the plight of the bumblebee, so start now by planting a bag of crocus corms or an early flowering fruit tree to get them off to a happy, healthy start in 2017.

All videos made this weekend at The Salutation, Sandwich, Kent.

Click here for more information on the Bumblebee Conservation Trust website.

Draped elegantly over the high walls surrounding Marrakech’s wealthier villas and riads is an elegant climber known variously as pink trumpet vine, Queen of Sheba, Port St. John’s creeper and Zimbabwe creeper. As the latter suggests, Podranea ricasoliana, as it’s less attractively known in latin, hails from Southern Africa. I naturally assumed that there would be no chance of growing this blushing beauty at home. It turns out I could be wrong. Roseland House Nursery in my native Cornwall suggest that “it will take cold, but like campsis needs sun and heat to flower”, recommending that it performs best planted in a cold greenhouse or against an exceptionally hot, sheltered wall.

My observation from today’s visit to the exquisite Jardin Majorelle is that the pink trumpet vine is apt to get a little out of control. In the cool confines of Yves Saint Laurent’s famous garden it positively smothers pergolas with long stems of jasmine-like foliage, each terminated with a cluster of sugar-pink trumpets. The vine’s brutish behaviour is veiled behind the finesse of its glossy compound leaves and sweetly scented flowers which bounce about delicately in the slightest breeze.

Podranea ricasoliana is related to the catalpas, Australian pandoreas and the splendid jacaranda tree, all members of the family Bignoniaceae. In a slightly bizarre piece if botanical naming, I discover that podranea is, quite deliberately, an anagram of pandorea. So, if you like pink, have a sun-kissed wall to cover or a conservatory of mighty proportions, here’s the climber for you. I will certainly be seeking it out on my return from North Africa.

Roseland House Nursery and Burncoose Nurseries in Cornwall both offer plants of Podranea ricasoliana in the UK.

Autumn has truly arrived when it’s time for the RHS London Harvest Festival show. This annual event comes at a busy time for me, falling just before I embark on my annual buying trip to India and China. But it’s a good opportunity to reconnect with my inner kitchen gardener and stock up on apples, garlic and chillies to fuel Him Indoors’ prolific chutney making. A short walk from my office, through the mansion block of Victoria, bathed in warm sunshine and with crisp London plane leaves crunching under foot, I am quickly at the Royal Horticultural Society’s magnificent Lindley Hall.

The fact that the Harvest Festival show is all about fruits and vegetables, rather plants and flowers, makes it one of my favourite events of the horticultural year. And as a regular visitor I am always on the look out for new exhibitors. I was fascinated to learn about the medicinal and herbal properties of birch sap from Lisette and Bernadette at Priestlands Birch. The sap of the humble silver birch has been used for centuries to detoxify the body and stimulate the metabolism. It can only be tapped for about 4 weeks a year, just as it rises through the tree in early spring, but before any leaves unfurl. Fresh water is drawn up through the roots, gathering stored nutrients as it goes. Hence the sap is packed with Potassium, Magnesium, Calcium, Vitamin C, Zinc, Phosphorus, Sodium, Iron, Manganese and Amino Acids.

Through the ages the crystal-clear liquid has been used to treat skin, kidney and rheumatic conditions and applied as a first-aid treatment for burns. It can also be drunk as a re-hydration tonic and administered as a hangover cure. Like milk, birch sap does not keep unless refrigerated, so the drink I tried was served from a bucket of ice, having been frozen since it was tapped. I was advised that a small cup would give me the midday boost I was craving. I can’t say it had a noticeable effect, but it was certainly very refreshing.

Long term followers of this blog will recall my delight in the eccentricities of this venerable show, including the annual duel between their Graces the Dukes of Devonshire and Marlborough for the honour of producing the finest grapes in the country. This year both Nobles were usurped by a Mr and Mrs Davidson from Alnwick, who swept the board with a section of stunning home-grown bunches. The quality of the Davidson’s ‘Madresfield Court’ black table grapes and ‘Muscat of Alexandria’ white grapes was head and shoulders above the competition, winning first prize in every category.

The other competition that can’t go unnoticed is that for the largest pumpkin. This year’s winner was grown by Ben Ben-Eliezer and weighted an incredible 566kg (1247lbs), equivalent to two Shetland ponies. The unattractively obese fruits entered into the ‘battle of the bulge’ took centre stage in the Lindley Hall and wore their prize rosettes with pride.

Whilst on the subject of fruit I was keen to get some advice on which quince (Cydonia oblonga) to grow against the wall of our new house. Pennard Plants recommended three Russian varieties that are resistant to quince leaf blight, a disease I didn’t know existed and can now hopefully avoid. These included pineapple-flavoured ‘Aromatnaya’; ‘Miagkoplodnaja’, which can be eaten raw; self fertile ‘Konstantinopeler’; and another from Europe, ‘Serbian Gold’, aka ‘Lesschovach’. Pennard Plants offer bare root plants from November and potted plants at other times of the year.

Among the most colourful exhibits were those staged by the RHS trials team with a dazzling array of sweet peppers (Capsicum annuum). The range of shapes and colours was mind-blowing, starting with inky-black ‘Midnight Dreams’, not-so-lilac ‘Lilac Belle’ and elongated ‘Violetta Lunga’; moving through brown (‘Mini Blocky Chocolate’) to more familiar reds, oranges, yellows and greens. The colour spectrum was echoed by Sea Spring Seeds, from whom I purchased a bag of chillies labelled ‘Russian Roulette’: I like to live dangerously! Here the variety and beauty of chillies (also Capsicum annuum) was illustrated with aplomb. A multi-coloured variety called ‘Fairy Lights’ grabbed my attention, as did ‘Tinkerbell’ with distinctive fruits the shape of a friar’s hat. These little chillies, stuffed with mincemeat and baked, would make perfect canapés.

Nothing goes to waste at the Harvest Festival Show. When the doors close, all the fruit and vegetables go to an East London restaurant which uses up food that would otherwise go to landfill. The establishment’s chefs create top-notch dishes which are paid for on an ‘as you feel’ basis, ensuring everyone in the community can afford to dine together.

As Britain’s longest leeks are sliced and sautéd, its mightiest marrows stuffed and seasoned, and prize pears peeled and poached, it’s time for me to pack my bags and head east …… far east.

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I am late with everything this year: late going on holiday, late preparing for Christmas and late planting my spring bulbs. As someone who prefers to be perennially prepared and eternally early, this is an unsettling state of affairs. But, am I too late to be nurturing my narcissi or interring my tulips?  Certainly not.

As with most things in life and gardening, the thought of being late is very much worse than the reality. As a general rule, bulbs that flower in the early part of the year should be safely secreted in the ground at least six weeks before there’s any risk of the soil becoming frozen (an increasingly unusual occurence in the South of England), but most display an amazing degree of tolerance when it comes to being planted late, even if this is delayed until the New Year. As long as the ground can be dug and is not waterlogged, there is a good chance your bulbs will bloom.

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Narcissi are noted for preferring to be planted in late summer or early autumn. To be certain of top quality blooms, this is good advice. Daffodil bulbs need time to establish themselves whilst the soil is still warm. They tend to produce roots even if kept in their packets and are then prone to dehydrating. Check to make sure bulbs are plump and firm before going to the trouble of planting, otherwise you could be wasting your time. Planted later in the year daffodil bulbs will almost certainly bloom later, and some may come up ‘blind’, flowering the following season. Small, weakened bulbs will clump-up more slowly, although they should eventually recover.

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On the flip side, warm, damp conditions can encourage fungus and disease problems in early-planted bulbs. This is especially troublesome for tulips. Whether in the ground or in pots, tulips should be planted after the weather turns cold. This will slow down or stop the development of nasty afflictions such as Tulip Fire, which causes unsightly brown spots on tulip foliage and flowers. I never plant tulip bulbs before November, unless they are in pots combined with narcissi. Planting in clean, sterilised compost reduces the likelihood of disease arising, and is fairly low risk. With cold weather frequently not arriving in the UK until December, the planting window for tulips is long and holding off should not delay flowering. On a recent edition of Gardeners’ Question Time, Bunny Guinness suggested that planting tulips as late as January or February, whilst not ‘text book’, can still result in a reasonable display. Bulbs have a clever habit of catching up with one another as soon as spring arrives.

Those gardeners brave enough to leave it late to buy their bulbs are often rewarded with some great deals. In November most merchants are keen to sell off excess stock at discounted prices, even though it’s perfectly viable. In fact the bulbs will be probably be in better shape than any purchased early and then stored at home. If you’re not precious about buying specific varieties then you’d do well to hold your nerve until the merchants lose theirs.

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If, like me, you have purchased bulbs and simply haven’t had time to plant them, I’d offer three pieces of advice – keep them cool, dry and dark. Warmth and moisture, whilst essential for initiating growth, are the enemies of dormant bulbs. Store them carefully in paper bags or well ventilated cardboard boxes, but never in sealed containers or plastic bags where they will sweat. Place the packages somewhere with good ventilation, preferably not in a closed cupboard. I go as far as to place my bulbs in a tray, arranged in a single layer, near a dehumidifier. This guarantees they don’t get damp. I check the bulbs every week and remove any that are showing signs of going soft or mouldy. These will soon contaminate the whole lot, and can smell pretty rancid in the process: the fragrance of festering fritillarias is something one should only encounter once in a lifetime! Exposure to bright light will also stimulate growth, even in the absence of food and water (bulbs are preloaded with both), so find a hiding place that’s nice and dark.

Even if you find a packet of tulips, daffodils or hyacinths hiding at the back of the garden shed after the Christmas sherry and New Year fizz has worn off, it’s still worth taking a chance. Bulbs are survivors by design, packed with energy to sustain them through good times and bad. If they bloom and grow it will be a pleasant surprise, and if they don’t, you can always start again, a bit earlier, next year.

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With the exception of bringing a child into the world, there is nothing in life so rewarding as growing a plant from seed. The emergence of a single vulnerable seedling from a tough, dry husk is nothing short of miraculous, a tiny incident of creation, evolution and the continuation of life on Earth.

The flowering of Canarina canariensis has given me special cause for celebration. I first encountered this pretty, scrambling, Canary Island native at the Chelsea Physic Garden in spring 2015. I promised then to update you on my efforts to cultivate this sub-tropical beauty. Two out of ten seeds germinated, one of which perished due to my own clumsiness. The other flourished. My fledgling climber died down in April, as it would in its natural habitat, and found itself stashed in a dry corner of the greenhouse. In late September I spied glaucous blue-green foliage beginning to emerge from the surface of the compost and commenced watering again. Throughout October, lush, 5ft long shoots were rapidly produced, most terminated by a tapered bud. Pictured above is the first, now carefully cossetted in the bathroom, coming into bloom.

The thought that I might miss this moment was giving me palpitations, but I have been lucky enough to watch that tapered bud transform into a campanulesque bell through the course of today. Canarina’s fiery flower, hopefully the first of many, is sufficient to warm the cockles of my heart and restore my rather maudlin mood. Perhaps in a couple of years I might enjoy a display like the one pictured below. Only by growing from seed could I have achieved this spectacle (as far as I am aware no nursery offers Canarina canariensis plants in the UK), hence I’m as proud as a new father. With seed catalogues beginning to drop through the letter box, now’s the time to plan your own little miracle for 2017.

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As my plane to New York taxied down the runway this morning, I received a message alerting me to a missed call from the builder. So much for pre-empting all the questions he might have, I thought. Judging by the frenzied messages that promptly followed from Him Indoors, there is something not quite right about the radiators I ordered, despite them being precisely the ones the builder instructed me to source. I am not remotely surprised, and for a fleeting moment I do not care: I am ‘out of office’, not quite foot-loose and fancy-free, but just for a few hours, at 35,000ft, I am very glad to be ‘out of the loop’.

As the building project crawls to a conclusion, the parallels between our trials and tribulations and what one hears about a nation’s preparations for the Olympic Games have become increasingly apparent. The project begins with great ideals – in our case a botanical library, soft light filtering in from every side of the house, an airy garden room for experimenting with tropical plants and enjoying gin and tonics – and ends wildly over budget and perilously close to disaster. No one has died, it’s true, but there have been occasions when I’d have gladly strangled someone. Yet, as with each and every Olympic Games, the work miraculous gets done, the show goes on and we’re all dazzled by the resulting spectacle.

For the next two weeks I will be out of the country on business. Last weekend, as well as pressure to have my house in order, there was a need to make sure the garden was ready for the cold snap. On Sunday I cleared away the spicily-scented stems of my dying hedychiums (a job I love), at the same time as pruning fuchsias and tibouchinas down to a manageable size and stashing anything vaguely tender in the greenhouse. Our cellars are now packed with dahlias, still in their black plastic pots, cheek by jowl with cautleyas, roscoeas and colocasias, none of which demand light during the winter months. Although I go through the same process every year, it’s strange to see the terrace looking so bare and empty. It reminds me of the importance of good structure and tidiness, to keep the garden looking attractive over winter.

Even though it’s late November I have thousands of bulbs left to plant. Most of the tulips will have to wait until I return in mid December, but the narcissi and fritillarias won’t hang on. Snug in their bags and boxes they are either producing roots or starting to shrivel. Starting in bright sunshine and ending in steady rain, I managed to plant up four large pots on Sunday; two crammed with as many Narcissus ‘Winter Waltz’ as I could fit in, and two larger ones layered with Fritillaria ‘William Rex’, Tulipa ‘Dom Pedro’ and Narcissus ‘Salome’. Despite keeping the narcissi cool and dry, several bulbs had withered into lifeless, papery parcels: a pity, but, as I have said before, it’s always better to plant the few that have hope rather than abandon them altogether.

Somehow in December, between writing cards, wrapping presents, making beds, cleaning, decorating and working, I must plant the remainder. It feels like a gargantuan task, but the thought of not seeing T. ‘Princesse Irene’, T. ‘Rococo’ and T. ‘Slawa’ in spring will spur me on like an Olympian going for gold. These flowers will be to our building project what fireworks are to the end of an Olympic opening ceremony – bright, colourful, exciting and a taste of great things to come.

Among the many perks of my job is the opportunity to travel. In the last fortnight I have been to the USA, Germany and The Netherlands, during which time my feet have hardly touched the ground. Whilst I am travelling, I just ‘have’ to visit any garden-orientated shops that happen to be en route.

When I first heard that the team behind US brand Anthropologie had opened a garden centre, I knew I had to visit. I could blow my entire home furnishings budget in the London ‘Anthro’ stores, so the idea of seeing their quirky aesthetic translated into a garden setting had huge appeal. My only problem was that the new format, named ‘Terrain’, hadn’t made it to the UK. In fact, until recently the only Terrain locations have been in Westport, Connecticut, and Glen Mills, Pennsylvania, with two further shop-in-shops opening in Californian branches of Anthropologie a couple of months ago. Opportunity knocked on my visit to New York, just a stone’s throw from coastal Westport’s quaint stone churches and wood-framed houses.

Terrain as a concept has been around since 2008. It’s inspired by the idea of merging house and garden to create ‘an experience for all of the senses’. It caters to an affluent crowd of sophisticated grown-ups that like to express their individuality by collecting and giving lovely things. When you’ve had a gut full of Crate and Barrel, West Elm and Pottery Barn, Terrain comes as a breath of fresh air. There’s nothing common-or-garden about the plants and other garden ephemera they sell: whether it’s a scented candle in an antique-effect jar, a lushly planted terrarium, an aged-metal wreath, or a bar of deliciously scented soap, it’s chosen with a keen eye for detail. And as every buyer knows, retail is detail.

In keeping with Anthropologie, Terrain has a highly tuned visual merchandising aesthetic. This means that products always look enticing and abundant, occasionally magical. Excellent service is delivered by wholesome ‘ladies of a certain age’, or handsome hipsters in the case of the excellent restaurant. I enjoyed a home-made burger of relatively modest proportions, whilst a colleague of mine tucked into a ‘Monte Cristo’, a heart-attack-inducing sandwich compiled from French toast, cheese and belly pork, half drowned in maple syrup. It sounds revolting, but looked and tasted delicious.

There is nothing remotely mass-produced or formulaic about the way Terrain is laid out, just an overwhelming sense that whoever has put it all together knows exactly what they are doing and isn’t interested in pedalling the same stuff as everyone else. Even with the sterling to dollar exchange rate stacked heavily against me, I felt compelled to buy because I knew I would not find Terrain’s wares elsewhere. That, Dear Readers, is what’s called ‘having a compelling offer’, otherwise known as being competitive, and finding a niche.

Whilst Terrain is outstanding in the context of the USA (Jayson Home & Garden in Chicago is another favourite of mine) the model of high-end garden retailing in a beautiful environment is more commonplace in Europe. I have visited many European garden shops over the years and the best are very, very good. Oogenlust, situated in Eersel, a short distance from Eindhoven, is exceptional. Started in 1980 by Marcel and Monique van Dijk, Oogenlust (meaning ‘lust’ or ‘feast’ for the eyes) began as a small flower shop and has blossomed into one of The Netherlands’ leading event florists, providing jaw-dropping floral displays for society events and top hotels.

With over 30 years’ experience under their belts, Marcel and Monique moved their business to a 13.5 acre site in the countryside in 2013, offering visitors the opportunity to take part in floristry workshops, and to browse a beautifully curated selection of cut flowers, arrangements, art work and gifts. From the minute one arrives in the carpark, greeted by rousing classical music piped from a cedar-clad building on the other side of the lake, one is absorbed into a world of fabulous flowers and exotic interiors.

The ‘shop’ (for want of better words to describe it) carries an eclectic mix of statuary, garden ornament, statement plants, gifts and floral art in a league of its own. A Christmas wreath, for example, might be fashioned from jewelled brooches, living succulents, delicate seedheads and gilded foliage. These festive adornments don’t come cheap, but they are exquisite.

Even before I crossed the threshold, the sense of anticipation created by the music had set my heart racing, only for my eyes to then be greeted with a cavalcade of scented flowers and aromatic foliage. Christmas ornaments hung down from huge, naked branches and fresh-cut Christmas trees dangled from the ceilings. A cosy library, complete with roaring fire, was laid out with a sumptuous selection of coffee table books.

Every vista in the shop is considered with an artist’s eye, carefully framed, always with something to tempt you further in to Oogenlust’s floral fantasy. Amongst the planters and decorations were urns brimming with combinations of flora and fauna that appeared to have been plucked from an enchanted forest – jewelled branches, tiny fruits fashioned into ornaments, gnarled and twisted branches draped with pure white porcelain flowers, even airplants atop the heads of white swans. We talk about retail theatre in the UK. Oogenlust is retail opera.

I have long felt that the UK lacks anything approaching the quality of the garden retail one can find on the continent. Large garden centres, especially the chains, have lost much of their individuality, buying as they do in big groups to secure better deals. This might offer consumers competitive prices, but it does not offer much in the way of variety or inspiration. Ubiquity does not move the industry forward, and it is lazy retailing. We all have enough ‘stuff’, indeed most of us have too much of it: if you are going to tempt customers to acquire more it needs to be better, more special and more distinctive. When, one day, I retire from mainstream retail, I dream of founding a garden shop like Terrain or Oogenlust where I can combine commerciality with my wildest imagination. More individuals and entrepreneurs should be encouraged to do so: this nation of gardeners deserves places like Terrain and Oogenlust in which to spend its money.

The builders have left the building – sing hallelujah, ring out the bells and fa la la la la!! We are finally free to inhabit our house without fear of tripping over the industrial cling film on the carpet or taking chunks out of our thighs on rusty screws. There will be no more stained polystyrene cups littering the garden or fag buts sticking out of plant pots; no more orange slurry poured over the herbs or mysterious liquids left festering in the watering can (don’t ask). We can, at last, restore order where there was chaos, put something down on a surface without it getting lagged in dust and, most excitingly, deck the halls with boughs of holly.

Although there is still extensive painting and decorating to be done, the construction work is finished as far as finances will allow for the foreseeable future. I am amazed at how integrated the house already feels, helped by ensuring details such as picture rails and toggle light switches are consistent throughout. Nevertheless I am still walking out of new rooms this weekend and feeling faintly disorientated. It is curious having windows at the back of the house, where once there was a solid, four-storey flint wall.

The library is as lovely as I hoped it would be. Ignoring the unpainted MDF and the whiff of new carpet (which smells strongly of cow pats), the room feels cosy, elegant and intimate. I am very relieved that Him Indoors talked me into keeping our temporary Ikea sofas (they have been temporary for nearly 11 years now) as not only can we not afford new ones, but they are also exactly the correct size for the room. Had I ordered new sofas, I’d have made the mistake of choosing much bigger ones which would not have suited the room. Until the decorators have been, my books must remain in stalagmitic formations rising from every free surface in the house. This does make it challenging when trying to find a spot to put one’s gin and tonic down. I may be forced to switch to sherry, which can be served in a narrower glass.

Gorgeous as the library is, my favourite new room at the moment is the garden room. It’s not remotely complete – the walls are crudely rendered or plaster-boarded and the original scuffed red tiles are still on the floor – but it is filled with a lovely light, especially in the early afternoon when the sun creeps around the corner and sets the toffee-coloured render a glow. It will be our gin and tonic spot and will therefore be free of literary monoliths. Due to an unfortunate mix up, the beautiful fire surround created by the carpenters had to be removed and will eventually be replaced by something less flammable. I could not bring myself to chuck it away, so, whilst we ponder a permanent home for it, I have employed it as a log-store-cum-mantelpiece to display some of my recent purchases from New York and The Netherlands. A renovated step-ladder that I picked up in the summer has been adorned with obligatory succulents, a delicate metal fern frond and a bunch of faux ivy stems. Real ivy lasts no time at all after cutting, so I don’t mind faking it in this instance.

Our main tree will not be decorated until Him Indoors gets home from work on Friday. In the meantime I succumbed to the charms of a 9ft Fraser – not an abnormally tall Scotsman, but a zestily scented fir with short, glossy, dark-green needles. I am very taken with its strong, upswept branches, which hold decorations perfectly. When cleaning a chest of drawers in one of our spare bedrooms I discovered a selection of green and gold baubles purchased in Germany many years ago. I decided to use these old friends as the backbone for a ‘magical nature’ theme. Using the tiny glass bottles I purchased at Oogenlust, I added little clusters of rose hips, some handsome looking pheasants and laser-cut metal leaves I found at Crate and Barrel. I wasn’t sure about the flashes of red at first, but they do make the tree very festive.

Just three more days of work now, followed by the reinstatement of the dining room and morning room, and some vital titivation out in the garden. Then I can relax. My tranquil state will be short-lived, if it materializes at all, for my niece and sister will be arriving on Christmas Eve.

Hoping all your festive preparations are progressing as planned. TFG.

It’s been a very long time since I was last up at 6am on Christmas morning. With a three-year-old in the house it was inevitable that we’d be roused before dawn to see if Father Christmas had paid us a visit. The lack of snow outside was a fleeting disappointment, but there was soon wrapping paper strewn across the bed and a very happy little girl playing with her new toys.

Getting the house in order after the last tradesmen left on Friday consumed so much time that I never got around to planting my festive containers in the garden. Instead I’ve arranged Christmas roses (Helleborus niger), heathers and variegated ivies in empty pots and window boxes outside the windows, where we can enjoy them from the comfort of the library. Correa ‘Marian’s Marvel’ has already been flowering for two months and is looking very pretty with its red and lime-green flowers nodding in the chilly wind. In the greenhouse Salvia involucrata ‘Bethellii’ and copper-coloured chrysanthemums bring more seasonal cheer, and Canna iridiflora is about to start blooming again. Outside, Cobaea scandens is still covered in tens of cup-and-saucer flowers thanks to the mild start to winter here in the UK.

Whatever you are up to today – and I will mostly be chasing around after little Martha, drinking sherry and enjoying all our new space – I hope Christmas Day brings you much cheer and happiness. TFG.

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My sweetie jar has been a little empty of late, so I think it’s high time I resumed my occasional Daily Flower Candy series, highlighting some of my favourite garden-worthy plants.

Today’s sweet treat is Correa ‘Marian’s Marvel’, a shrub that had passed me by until I stumbled over it three times in the space of a week last January. Correa, otherwise known as Australian fuchsia, has its natural habitat in the open forest and scrublands of Australia. There are 11 species in total, all originating from the South-East and Tasmania. Correas are part of the citrus family, Rutaceae, and, like many in this family, the plant’s crushed leaves give off a distinctive perfume.

Correa ‘Marian’s Marvel’ is a cross between C. reflexa and C. backhouseana. It was discovered in the garden of Marion Beek at Naracoorte, South Australia, and was named in her honour. The stems are long and spreading, reaching up to 2m and spreading to 3m in time. Older stems are glabrous (smooth) while younger stems are densely covered in brown hairs. Leaves are small, dark and evergreen.

The main virtue of ‘Marian’s Marvel’ is that she flowers continually from late October until March, producing flush after flush of lobster-pink flowers tipped with avocado-green. In mid winter, when any kind of colour is a precious thing, ‘Marian’s Marvel’ adds a touch of pantomime dame to the most ‘noir’ garden performance. Tubular flowers are carried in groups of one to three per axil, each lasting for several weeks. Carried on long, arching stems, they are as bright and tantalising shooting stars in a night sky.

C. ‘Marian’s Marvel’ tolerates most situations, preferring full sun or partial shade in the UK. Correas were much-loved by the Victorians, who regarded them as attractive subjects for their conservatories. Technically they are not hardy below -5°C and are therefore recommended only for very sheltered gardens or coastal locations. Elsewhere correas will make a cheerful addition to a conservatory in winter and can be repositioned outside in the spring. In London and Cornwall I have seen correas achieve a respectable size in gardens, and in Broadstairs ‘Marian’s Marvel’ is doing rudely well in a pot outside our French windows, where it enjoys a southerly aspect. Correas are adaptable to most well-drained soils provided they are on the neutral to acid side, and are happy to be cultivated in a pot for a number of years. This is perfect if, like me, you are short of space, or wish to bring your plant inside over winter to be on the safe side.

Having not been properly acquainted with this lovely plant for 43 years of my life, I can honestly say we are already firm friends. Correa ‘Marian’s Marvel’ is a neat, tolerant, cheerful little shrub, turning on the charm when everything else in the garden is at its most dour. Marvellous indeed.

Correa ‘Marian’s Marvel’ is currently available from Burncoose Nurseries in Cornwall and Kelway’s in Somerset.

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During the winter months, every flower in the garden is cherished like a precious gemstone. Once spring arrives, we’ll enjoy an elegant sufficiency of tissue-fine blooms, followed by an embarrassment of floral riches in the summer. Autumn offers an equal abundance of bright colour, before being swallowed up by the dull browns and frosted greens of winter.

Bringing relief to the midwinter garden are the sweetly scented flowers belonging to a select band of plants that have evolved to make the most of the colder months. Winter flowering plants are not often blessed with large, showy blooms. In the chill wind and rain these are unlikely to survive long enough to attract pollinating insects. Instead, many employ scent as a signal that they are ready to reproduce. In cold air, scent travels more slowly, so most winter flowering shrubs and trees are adapted to produce potent, heady scents which linger for longer.  The best advice I can offer is to position winter scented plants close to your front door so that you are greeted by heavenly perfumes every time you cross the threshold.

Here are my top picks for fabulous winter fragrance:

Sarcococca confusa  AGM: sweet box

No garden of mine would be without a large patch of this tough, diminutive shrub. Suckering stems carry green, lustrous leaves for 12 months of the year, further adorned by numerous clusters of honey-scented, filament-like flowers in January and February. A single sprig, cut and carried indoors, will perfume a large room. Sarcocca ruscifolia var chinensis ‘Dragon’s Gate’ and Sarcoccoa hookeriana var digyna ‘Purple Stem’ AGM are also worth seeking out.

Iris unguicularis ‘Mary Barnard’ AGM: Algerian iris

Breaking all the rules, this Mediterranean beauty produces improbably large, diaphanous flowers in the depths of winter. For most of the year Iris unguicularis is little more than a clump of coarse leaves. Just before Christmas a minor miracle happens: hyacinth-blue flowers start to appear deep in the crown of the plant. These open to reveal tender flowers feathered with white and splashed with yellow. If picked for a posy their sweet fragrance can be properly appreciated. The variety ‘Mary Barnard’ has darker, more purplish flowers than the species.

Lonicera x purpusii ‘Winter Beauty’ AGM: winter honeysuckle

When I was at Reading University I would regularly pass the naked, arching form of Lonicera x purpusii ‘Winter Beauty’ en route to post-Christmas lectures, breathing in the sparkling scent of its tiny white flowers. Insignificant through spring, summer and autumn, this woody honeysuckle is a powerhouse of perfume from December to February.

Chimonanthus praecox ‘Luteus’ AGM: wintersweet

Many winter and spring-flowering plants produce yellow flowers to attract bees. The bees themselves see yellow as blue – how do we know that? Your guess is as good as mine! Whatever you see when you gaze at Chimonanthus praecox ‘Luteus’ it’s sure to cheer you up. This shrub requires a modicum of patience to get established and a sheltered spot to enjoy the best of its scent. Makes an excellent cut flower in winter arrangements.

Camellia sasanqua ‘Kanjiro’: Christmas camellia

Sasanqua camellias are native to the evergreen coastal forests of southern Japan. The Japanese use the leaves of Camellia sasanqua to make tea, and the seeds are pressed into tea seed oil for use as a lubricant and in cooking and cosmetics. The variety ‘Kanjiro’ originated in Japan in 1954 and bears cerise-pink semi-double blooms with golden stamens and a delicate fragrance. Shallow rooted, sasanqua camellias should not be planted too deeply and need to be kept moist with a good leafy mulch. Given the conditions they demand, they will reward with hundreds, if not thousands, of small, elegant flowers. Single white ‘Narumigata’ is another lovely choice.

Daphne bholua ‘Jacqueline Postil’: Nepalese paper plant

When we visited Nepal and Bhutan in 2013 we found we were never more than a few feet away from Daphne bholua. ‘Jacqueline Postil’ is a good all-round daphne, and hardier than many other varieties. Richly scented flowers open from deep pink buds in January and continue for weeks. D. bholua ‘Peter Smithers’ was collected on the Daman Ridge in Nepal and has bigger, purplish-pink flowers. Needs moist, well-drained, humus-rich soil.

Narcissus tazetta ‘Paperwhite Ziva’: paperwhites

Tazetta narcissi are not reliably hardy in most UK gardens. This should not put you off: they make excellent house plants and anyone can grow them. Buy and plant your bulbs in deep pots 6 weeks before you want them to flower, water and place somewhere bright. Tah dah! Behold: a host of ice-white flowers broadcasting intoxicating scent. Get hold of the largest bulbs you can, as each will produce several stems. Planted in succession you can enjoy paperwhites indoors from November until April.

Coronilla valentina subsp. glauca ‘Citrina’ AGM :shrubby scorpion vetch

Glowing like a candle in the dark is a plant that laughs in the face of February, Coronilla valentina subsp. glauca ‘Citrina’. Despite its unappealing common names, which include scorpion vetch and bastard senna, this compact, winter-flowering shrub was applauded by the great Vita Sackville-West, who praised “its persistence throughout the dreary months”, where she would find it “flowering continuously between those two great feasts of the Church – a sort of hyphen between the Birth and the Resurrection”. From November until May scorpion vetch produces little pom-poms of lemon-yellow, pea-shaped flowers atop greyish-green foliage. An added bonus is the sweet scent, reminiscent of daffodils, a feature which made Coronilla valentina a popular cut flower in Victorian times.

Viburnum × bodnantense ‘Charles Lamont’ AGM: arrow wood

Viburnum x bodnatense has the posture and countenance of an ageing general: upright and vigorous, yet gnarled. In spring and summer its long stems wear a uniform of camouflage green, before letting rip with a blaze of yellow and orange foliage in autumn. Almost as soon as the leaves have fallen, tight bundles of tiny pink flowers begin to emerge from the bare stems, filling the air with scent. It’s a common shrub, but for a very good reason: it’s easy to grow in sun or shade and will tolerate inept pruning. To avoid the flowers being damaged by frost, it’s best to position Viburnum x bodnantense somewhere sheltered, and where it can be viewed from the house.

Hamamelis × intermedia ‘Arnold Promise’ AGM: Witch Hazel

Hybridisation has blessed gardeners with countless shrubby witch hazels to choose from. Hamamelis × intermedia ‘Arnold Promise’ is a nice compact variety with dense, sulphur-yellow flowers that exude a characteristic spicy scent. Witch hazels are quite particular. They prefer acid soil, although they can manage on a neutral one provided the soil does not get too dry in summer. They are best in a sunny position and do not like to be too wet in winter. If you can provide all that, then you are a luckier gardener than I am! ‘Pallida’ bears primrose yellow flowers and ‘Diane’ is red. ‘Orange Peel’ not only has orange flowers but smells of marmalade – delicious!

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