Maybe not quite a garden but much more than a yard, our 'yarden' is pretty much our pride and joy.


Having outside space was definitely a major deal-maker when it came to moving house. After six / seven years in a top floor flat, where the only thing we managed to just barely keep alive was a hardy spider plant (and even that was frequently victim to the cat's appetite), having somewhere where we could get our hands into soil, grow some colours, take a breath of fresh air was top of the list.

Sure, a lawn might have been nice, but I kind of love that the maintenance of our garden is entirely dictated by us and what and how much we choose to grow.

A bit of deadheading, watering, keeping tabs on weeds - it's not a lot of effort for the amount of joy we get back. 

I grow a lot of roses, because they remind me of my Grandad and because nothing quite tops them in the beauty stakes, as far as I'm concerned. 

Just now, we're starting to come into full bloom - lush greens and pops of bright pinks and velvety reds - a fascinating journey from the barren sticks that endured the winter. Just call me Monty Don.