Sep 19

Sep 19 How To Turn A Tiny Concrete Victorian Terrace Back Yard Into A Tropical Oasis For You And The Bees ~ Plant It And They Will Come

And in they came in their gold toting honey chaps packing pollen pants. The only plants I buy are bee food. It’s a constant journey of discovery, last year I would go to the garden centre and follow my ears until I picked up on the buzz of delight around a plant and buy whatever it was. For reasons known only to them and not me, they would either love it or ignore it when I brought it back to the yarden. Maybe the flowers were out of tune, or the acoustics weren’t right in my yard?

One variety that was a total triumph were the Heucheras, or Heuchie Ceuchies as they are known in my back yard. I bought them on a very hot day and it was 3 for £15, so a holy trinity of bronze and variegated anticipation went in the trolley, as did 3 for £21 Fatsia Japonica. My resolution has always outweighed my constitution, so by the time I had walked from B&Q to Boots in the Retail Park and was having a lovely chat with the fabulous lady behind the pharmacy counter, who was supplying my Solpadeine Max without the 20 questions, I mentioned that I was already experiencing some regret about the huge and heavy commitment I had just made being in a carless state. She was very supportive and empowering. There was only one way to go, home, public transporting, humping heavy plants, again. I’ve been here before (owned the biggest organic herb and spice company in the country), had a van, and it did not end well.

I should have bought water, but I’m on a no plastic bottle buying pledge, so by the time I’d dragged half of The Effing forest to the train station, I wondered, not for the first time, if I had enough saliva left to dissolve a Solpadeine by myself. Parched and exhausted, I thought no.

Often there are heated conversations going on in my head, however I lugged my thoughts down the dual carriage way from the retail park to the train station in silence. There had been a Beatles concert at Aintree Racecourse that day and in spite of a packed carriage of drunk festivalers, they all surrendered space for my plants. I took up three seats and explained to the lady sitting next to me on the floor that I wished I hadn’t been born. The man I had hedged in kindly climbed over the seat in front of him to get off at his stop.

It’s a year later now and those two trinities have made me double happy. The Heucheras produced a profusion of three foot spikes that must have fueled a hundred hives. They just kept coming, the flowers and the bees. One plant however never bulked up like its mates and it took almost the whole summer of heavy watering for me to realise I’d forgotten to knock the holes out in the bottom of the pot and I’d effectively drowned it. I tipped it out onto the yard like a stinking swamp monster and replanted it in well-drained circumstances. I spent the Winter guilty and unconvinced I’d done enough in time to save it, but not guilty enough to hang around and watch it, so I thought about it while I was lying by the pool in Bangkok for three months, and wished it a speedy recovery.

It did recover, but not speedily and lost its power to flower, as did just one of its buddies. I’ve no idea why, perhaps in solidarity, but both refused to bloom. Is this a spike strike? I hope not, coz that would make the third member a scab and I can’t have that.

After weeks of staring at the two non-productive team members I spotted both have sent out a message to you Rudie. It started with one spike each, like a group salute. Affiliated again, united we stand. Grand.

The Fatsias, just kept giving and giving. Overcame the caterpillar attack, drought, snow, the Beast from the East, heatwaves and eventually were too sexy for their own shoes and tipped over ten times a day. I rewarded them with a lovely big shiny shoe each, biggest shoe in the shop, and they’ve never looked more comfortable.