Chelsea? I prefer my humble plot
AFTER watching TV coverage of the Chelsea Flower Show, I thought: Thank heaven for my own garden! At Chelsea, there are weird and wonderful designs, bold blocks of colour with every plant grown to perfection and the petals precisely manicured. The TV presenters are impeccably turned out and the commentary overflows with praise. When I look out of my window, I can see one or two ragged roses, fallen leaves on the lawn and a few perennials looking sorry for themselves as they bid farewell for another year. But this is real, down-to-earth gardening, not the fantasy or manufactured sort that is so Chelsea. Even after more than half a century of writing about plants and gardens, I would never wish to return to the overcrowded avenues of Chelsea when instead I can get stuck into seasonal chores in my tranquil oasis.
GraHaM aNdrEWS, Bideford, devon.
AS A wonderful gardening season turns to autumn, just imagine what it would be like if the re-wilding brigade gained the ascendency. Untidiness prevalent, grasses and weeds strangling natural beauty — what an awful thought.
PETEr rIcKaBY, Selby, N. Yorks.
THE morning mists herald the end of the garden fruit and vegetable growing season. The strawberries so lovingly tended and watered before being consumed with cream are a distant memory. The last tomatoes have been picked to ripen in plastic trays. The wild blackberries running rampant along the back wall and the raspberry canes produced enough to fill bowls eaten sitting under shade on the patio. To my delight, the grapevine planted five years ago has produced its first fruit: ten bunches of small, perfectly formed black grapes. Proudly presenting them to my family, we popped one in our mouths to savour the taste. Alas, they were sharp, acidic and crunchy, more pip than grape. But given time, who knows, Chateau Wednesfield could become a classic vintage!