Chelsea celebrates its centenary by going deeply traditional

After one of the coldest, wettest winters on record, we had a stunner of an early May Bank Holiday.  Warm, calm and sunny, it teased us with the idea that the long winter was over.  For those few days, everything burst into bloom and we dreamt of the glories of a long, clement British summer.

Alas, it was a tease.  The month that followed was ... surprise, surprise ... cold and wet.  Plants that had given a little burst of growth at the beginning of the month seemed to go back into hibernation.  Causing no end of stress for the growers preparing for the Chelsea Flower Show.

The grand-daddy of all horticultural events celebrated 100 years this week, and everyone was making an effort to create a superlative show.  It was lovely, as ever, but I fear what I'll remember most is that despite valiant efforts, this was the year that a lot of the gardens remained in bud, rather than bloom.  Growers coaxed enough out, however, for a glorious celebration.  And the sun came out for us, though we were all in winter woolens.  Here are a few highlights.

The anniversary show was definitely looking back and embracing tradition.  We've had years where it was all stark modernism, foliage plants, high design, foreign influence.  But this year ... exemplified by this garden created to mark 100 years of tradition ... was resolutely traditional with plenty of flowers, classic herbaceous borders and cottage garden feel.

Dominant colours were blues, purples and mauves, accented with reds or oranges.

The most common flower at the show seemed to be Queen Anne's lace (aka cow parsley, or for your purists out there ... anthriscus sylvestris).  Used in multiple gardens, it created a billowing cushion of white to bring together all the other perennials.  It looked great, but I'd be afraid to try it in my own garden.  There's a fine line between this kind of planting and a serious weed problem.

My plant of the show was anchusa Loddon royalist.  Stunning spikes of the most remarkable blue flowers ... turns out it's a member of the borage family.  This was the one I had to have, and I'd purchased two from our local perennial specialist within 48 hours of seeing it.

Some gardens work better in concept than reality.  The idea behind the one above was great:  evoke England from an airplane, with its patchwork of fields, forests and rivers represented by all-English plants.  Surround it with a cloister reminiscent of the great Medieval cathedrals, but modernised and made with English hardwoods.  I'm afraid all I could think was funereal.  The clipped box reminded me of graves, the black walls of a mausoleum.

Gnomes were the great joke of the show.  They've never been allowed, but this year the RHS eased up the rules and they were dotted all over the place.  Each painted by a celebrity, to be auctioned off to aid a gardening-based charity.  This regal couple stood in the African-inspired garden created for the charity sponsored by English Prince Harry and Prince Seeiso of Lesotho.

A bold break from the gentle colour schemes and tradition.  This one was supposed to make us think of a Jackson Pollock  drip painting, and was surmounted by a giant glass sculpture of a single bloom ... blue with the same drops of colour.  Fun, but far too garish to look at every day in your own garden.

In the floral pavilion you find the specialist growers who just do one type of plant very, very well.  At this Iris grower's stand I discovered the identity of the yellow rogue in my garden.  The one who was supposed to be the pink and purple Carnaby.  Turns out his name is Rajah.  And, I have to admit, he's growing on me.

There's at least one Oriental garden every year.  This tiny Japanese model was exquisite.  And if I had enough land for distinct garden "rooms", I'd be mighty tempted to build myself a little sushi hut...

And, of course, in addition to watching the plants, there's always celebrity spotting.  We saw actresses Maureen Lipman and Miriam Margolyes.  And, like the rest of the garden-mad crowds, paused to worship beneath the BBC broadcast balcony as TV gardeners Alan Titchmarsh and Dairmuid Gavin waved to the crowds.

Book of Mormon and Don Carlo share the London stage, and a poke at religion

On first glance, you wouldn't imagine there was anything linking them.

The Book of Mormon.  A rollicking, wickedly satirical musical from the creators of South Park that might also be called puerile, obscene and offensive.  But so funny I laughed until I hurt.  Don Carlos. A 4-hour epic grand opera by Verdi, directed by the world-reknown Anthony Pappano and staring the even more famous Johann Kauffman.  High culture doesn't get much higher.  At opposite ends of the scale?

Perhaps.  But both were on the London stage this month.  Both were equally enjoyable, both were incredibly tough tickets to get and both used art to cast a very wary eye over religion.

Let's start with the Mormons.  If anything, I suspect this show will be an even bigger hit here than in the States.  First, because the Brits are less easily offended.  And second, because the naive, cheerful, blundering innocence of the young Mormon protagonists is pretty much the way the Brits see all Americans.  Thus in London, there's an added layer of meaning as the show becomes a commentary on American culture itself.

It's not for the easily offended.  The simple plot comes up against some horrific issues as our cheerful missionaries land in darkest Africa and confront a warlord threatening clitoral circumcision of our young heroine.  Aids, famine, raping babies, God abandoning his people and suppressed homosexuality all turn up, along with language to make a hardened longshoreman blush.  That should be grim going, but not in the hands of the South Park boys, who've always used humour to plumb some grim depths.  The music, pacing and characters remind you of a cheerful ... even innocent ... high school musical, and that bizarre contrast ads to the laughs.  The scenes when one of our heroes reveals Orlando as his dream of paradise, when another baptises his first girl (an obvious double for losing his virginity), the ironic take on Disney's "Hakuna Matata" and the big production number that is the "spooky Mormon hell dream" are all so funny you'll be fighting to breathe.

At the centre is, of course, a grand send-up of Mormonism, pushed beyond ridiculous as the show reveals its foundation myths of Jewish tribes in pre-historic America, golden tablets found in farm fields and the promise of your own planet in the afterlife.  The official Mormon response, reportedly, has been to share the joke, buying advertising in show programmes.  I can't help but recall the Catholic response to Life of Brian, which made them look small minded and made the film an even bigger success.  (Is it time for Life of Brian, the musical?)

I wonder if anyone at the Vatican banned Don Carlo when it first came out because, frankly, it doesn't
do many favours for the establishment in Rome.  The Grand Inquisitor is a villain of the highest degree, and the church casts a malign shadow across the plot.  Which, much simplified, is as follows:  Carlo, the son of Philip II of Spain, is supposed to marry a French princess and end war between the two countries.  Prince and princess fall in love and look to a happy future, but this is opera and it's only Act 1.  So that's not going to happen.  Politics wed the young princess to Carlo's father instead.  Leaving the next 4 acts for the prince to deal with thwarted love and serious paternal issues through involvement in revolution in the Netherlands and protest against the dreaded inquisition.

This opera isn't produced too often, probably because it's of almost Wagnerian length, but the plot rips along at a good pace and has enough twists and turns to make it closer to modern melodrama or soap opera than the great German's myth-based epics.   This is one it's great to see in a place like the Royal Opera House, where they can pull out the stops on sets, costumes and extras.  The scene where they burn the heretics, complete with golden cathedral and lavish royal procession, was magnificent.   But, frankly, so was the forest in which our star-crossed lovers met at the beginning, and the grand tomb of Charles V where everything comes to a climax at the end.

This was a sell-out thanks to the star turn of opera man-of-the-moment Jonas Kauffman who was, as expected, both wonderful to hear and to look at.  However, I must admit he seemed no stronger than an astonishing ensemble cast.  Elisabetta (princess, then queen) was strong and poignant, the king ominous yet somehow pitiable, and the Grand Inquisitor chilling.  There is a moment when he turns on King Philip, drawing himself up to issue a warning as the music swells, that's just as good as when the ghost arrives for dinner with Don Giovanni.

Ironically, it's the lowbrow show with the naughty humour that may leave you with a more positive feel for religion.  After sending it up for two hours, at the end of Book of Mormon you're left with a message that the details of religion really don't matter as long as you can combine stories and traditions to get people to do good things.  Meanwhile, the operatic tragedy at the end of Don Carlo leaves you thinking all religion is bad, and particularly dangerous when combined with politics.  Both, whatever their nuances, left me vastly entertained.

May bank holiday brings a verdant explosion

Few things are rarer than a British bank holiday with good weather.  It was a rainy bank holiday that triggered this blog's first entry six years ago, and the majority of them since have seen rain, wind, clouds and cool weather.  But not this year.  After a wet, miserable winter that never seemed to end, the early May bank holiday sprung upon us with warmth and sunny skies.  Nature is exploding to catch up with where it should be.  It was a weekend to be outside.  A weekend to let pictures speak louder than words.

I discovered that one of the UK's top 25 specialist nurseries, Hardy's Cottage Plants, was just half an hour from my house.  I bought a few plants.  Many more will come.

Back to the garden, where I planted the new things from Hardy's, then sat on this lower patio, watching the dogs romp and reading gardening magazines.

It's two picturesque miles across fields to the local National Trust property.  Right now the paths are edged with blossoms.  Because spring was late, the hawthorns are still in full bloom.

This year's late-blooming primroses, unusually, are side-by-side with the bluebells.

Just 20 minutes from the house, I can find this idyllic little stream bordered by bluebells.  One of the best things about Basingstoke is how quickly you can get out of it!

Freshly-plowed fields, pregnant with summer.

Iconic English oaks fringed with new leaves.

A mix of tiny flowers at the edge of the path.

At the end of the walk, the formal glory of the gardens at The Vyne.

Far too exciting a weekend for a puppy.  Bruno is exhausted!