"I swore I'd never do it again!" It's an odd battle cry, but it's the one you most hear from garden designers at Chelsea, including Laurie Chetwood, the architect whose first show garden included a funky, water-gathering device with photovoltaic panels. He's back in 2009 with designer Patrick Collins and a garden inspired by a perfume recipe made for Elizabeth I*. He laughs when I compare it to childbirth: somehow you forget the pain from last time, and go on to have another...
Just as he will never know what that experience is like, I can only imagine the hell it must be to plan and build a Chelsea garden. Yes, there are moments of euphoria, but the fact that you can go from elation to desolation in the time it takes most people to open a packet of seeds means that only the mentally stable should apply.
I've had a little hint of what things might be like because I am currently writing a series for Gardeners' World Magazine. My garden is due to be photographed in high summer, but already the feeling of vulnerability and exposure is unpleasant. Added to which I have to grow three times as many plants just in case there are any failures. And for anyone who has to put on a show, second-guessing the weather is a lonely pastime.
Some designers have organised, experienced contractors and nurseries behind them who will always manage to pull a horticultural rabbit out of the hat if an emergency occurs; that's why designers jostle to be accepted by the favourites. For those designing smaller gardens with limited budgets and less back-up, the pressure is even greater to produce perfection.
Big garden or small garden, one thing is for sure: no one will be resting easy in their beds.
(* The recipe is in a book published in the 1920s The Mystery and Lure of Perfume by CJS Thompson).
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