I made my first ever visit to Chelsea Flower Show this year. After the initial frisking of hand-baggage the first sense of the scale of the thing was a river of humanity stretching as far as the eye could see or the neck could crane. It feels very much part of what has become the gardening “scene” in the UK – whatever that is – and I have no doubt this has much to do with the ubiquitous, well-dressed, well-fed and even better paid, and probably very insistent BBC, but let’s not go there. I greatly enjoyed the day for all its aspects and experiences, its laughs and gob-smacked incredulity. Chelsea has, however, very much a “them and us” feel, which wasn’t lost on the others in my party, all of whom were there for the first time. The great and the good closeted and cosseted well away from us plebs played their regal parts and gazed from their restaurants, special areas and, from a distance, the rear of their gardens.
To be fair there were some who braved the hoi polloi and I heartily congratulate them for that, particularly Patricia Thirion who could no more understand receiving only a bronze medal for Christian before Dior, than we could. It was my favourite of all the gardens from seeing it on the television and seeing it in the flesh and we all agreed that its charm and particularity lay in the fact that it was, indeed, a garden, in every sense.
Andy Sturgeon’s effort put me in mind of an old steam railway siding and I christened it The Road to Nowhere. I couldn’t see the reason for all the lyrical prose from Alan Titchmarsh and the rest, and I was put in mind of the little boy who hadn’t heard about the Emperor’s New Clothes. Clearly I hadn’t seen the thoughtful implication and artistry, only the dull, unimaginative planting, the slabs and the metal.
The M & G garden (Roger Platts) and the Hesco Garden with the representation of a canal lock were interesting, beautiful and good to look at, but I didn’t get much from the Foreign & Colonial Garden other than my youngest son christened it “The Bummery” which said it all really.
The Great Pavilion was worth every penny with fabulous Delphiniums, wonderful Bonsai and the most amazing vegetables and so much more. But it was the show gardens, which, even with all the Titchmarshesque flummery, disappointed somewhat.
They clearly represented a huge amount of work, not to mention a huge amount of money but in back-garden parlance, they could have done with a bit of a “lift” and were in turns too dull, perhaps too muted, too green and yellow, too much stone and metal.
That said we all agreed we would go again if only for the First Class rail travel and the taxi through London...
I made my first ever visit to Chelsea Flower Show this year. After the initial frisking of hand-baggage the first sense of the scale of the thing was a river of humanity stretching as far as the eye could see or the neck could crane. It feels very much part of what has become the gardening “scene” in the UK – whatever that is – and I have no doubt this has much to do with the ubiquitous, well-dressed, well-fed and even better paid, and probably very insistent BBC, but let’s not go there. I greatly enjoyed the day for all its aspects and experiences, its laughs and gob-smacked incredulity. Chelsea has, however, very much a “them and us” feel, which wasn’t lost on the others in my party, all of whom were there for the first time. The great and the good closeted and cosseted well away from us plebs played their regal parts and gazed from their restaurants, special areas and, from a distance, the rear of their gardens. 
To be fair there were some who braved the hoi polloi and I heartily congratulate them for that, particularly Patricia Thirion who could no more understand receiving only a bronze medal for Christian before Dior, than we could. It was my favourite of all the gardens from seeing it on the television and seeing it in the flesh and we all agreed that its charm and particularity lay in the fact that it was, indeed, a garden, in every sense.
Andy Sturgeon’s effort put me in mind of an old steam railway siding and I christened it The Road to Nowhere. I couldn’t see the reason for all the lyrical prose from Alan Titchmarsh and the rest, and I was put in mind of the little boy who hadn’t heard about the Emperor’s New Clothes. Clearly I hadn’t seen the thoughtful implication and artistry, only the dull, unimaginative planting, the slabs and the metal.
The M & G garden (Roger Platts) and the Hesco Garden with the representation of a canal lock were interesting, beautiful and good to look at, but I didn’t get much from the Foreign & Colonial Garden other than my youngest son christened it “The Bummery” which said it all really.
The Great Pavilion was worth every penny with fabulous Delphiniums, wonderful Bonsai and the most amazing vegetables and so much more. But it was the show gardens, which, even with all the Titchmarshesque flummery, disappointed somewhat. 
They clearly represented a huge amount of work, not to mention a huge amount of money but in back-garden parlance, they could have done with a bit of a “lift” and were in turns too dull, perhaps too muted, too green and yellow, too much stone and metal. 
That said we all agreed we would go again if only for the First Class rail travel and the taxi through London...
