The Round-Up: It’s a breathless gallop through the late spring social diary

Since returning from our Scandinavian cruise, I’ve been burning the candle at both ends. Work has been intense … of that, the less said the better … and life has been packed with good things. Many outings deserved their own story, but there’s been no time to write. So here’s a quick roundup of five madcap weeks back in the UK.

A required event whenever my father visits is an extended family dinner. The tradition goes back to the early ‘00s, when the trio that established our Northwestern Girls’ trips shared parents whenever they visited. As expats living far from our families, it was always a treat to be included and over the years each of us felt blessed to acquire adoptive mothers and fathers. These days, sadly, only my father and Hillary’s mother remain, making those dinners all the more precious. Dumpling’s Legend, on Gerrard Street in the heart of London’s Chinatown, remains an ideal spot to host a large group meal. They’re known for the best soup dumplings in London, made with astonishing speed and lightening dexterity behind a window near the entrance. Though they have a full a la carte menu, ordering one of the set banquets is ideal for a party. Something for everyone arrives in quantity; I’ve never been with a group that managed to clear all the plates. They’re my favourite Chinese restaurant in town. A quick walk from most West End theatres, this is also my pick for pre-theatre dining.

We’d been home just five days when my father and I decamped for Stow-on-the-Wold in the Cotswolds. Though I was working for the week, it gave him a chance to do a bit of sightseeing somewhere different and gave the two of us some quiet time on our own. We returned to The Little House at the edge of Stow-on-the-Wold, which remains tremendous value for money in a pricey holiday rental market. With two bedrooms, a small kitchen, a compact lounge with dining table, a walled courtyard and street parking just outside, it’s a comfortable home base for two and works for three for short periods. (My husband joined us at the end of the stay for the bank holiday weekend.) Unusually good broadband means working from there is easy, and the property’s location on the edge of the village puts it in easy walking distance to all shops and restaurants.

We returned to The Old Butchers and remain impressed by its family-owned, high-end bistro vibe. But the restaurant discovery of the visit was The Old Stocks, a place we’d tried to get into last year but learned that didn’t happen without advanced booking. Inventive dishes, beautiful presentation, delicate flavours, local sourcing, charming staff. Gambling for cocktails at the start sets the tone for a fun evening: roll a die to determine what fruit liqueur will jazz up your English sparkling wine. This is the spot to which we’ll return on our next visit in July.

The reason we were in the Cotswolds, as regular readers will anticipate, was the opening of Longborough Opera Festival’s 2023 season. I was so delighted to be able to introduce the man who introduced me to genre in the first place to the country house opera tradition in the UK. I think Dad was a bit amazed (as, to be fair, most first-time visitors are) by the whole odd spectacle of people in formal wear tucking into gourmet nibbles liberated from plastic boxes onto picnic tables set in the grandeur of the English countryside. And that’s not even the main event. As ever, Wagner kicked off the new season, and we were there on opening night. The emotional impact of a virtuoso performance was so strong that as the last notes faded away, the audience sat in stunned silence. It was almost as if the 500 willed, as one, for the sweeping epic not to be over. (And that’s saying a lot for a performance that takes up around four hours.) Then the silence broke to rapturous applause and cries of “Bravo! Brava!”, with particular acclaim going to Lee Bisset for her astounding turn as Brünnhilde. I can’t wait to return next summer to see the cast re-assemble for the full Ring Cycle. (Though we’re back in July for Purcell’s Fairie Queen.)

My working week in the country was busier than planned thanks to an unexpected call back to London, made worse by the non-functioning train line between Oxford and Didcot that extended the journey. But the reason was worth the pain: my boss invited me as her “plus one” to corporate hospitality at the Chelsea Flower Show. The show gardens were underwhelming this year. The trend for informal planting has seemingly reached its apogee in what many commentators were calling “the year of the weed”. There are some years you’re eagerly taking notes, spotting new plants and getting ideas you can take home. Others, not so much. Which is almost the way you want it when you’re gifted with corporate hospitality, since you end up spending at least as much time on the merriment as on the horticulture.

We were guests of the FT and The Newt. The latter is the headline sponsor of the show but, contrary to tradition, does not sponsor a garden. They instead host their guests in a large pavilion above the restaurant at the end of the main avenue, right across from the BBC’s broadcast facility. This really is the ideal way to attend something notorious for its crowds. Access was from 5:30 to 10 and thanks to my former show knowledge I think I put together quite a strategic itinerary, making a succession of looping sorties through the show with pauses back in the hospitality area for cocktails and canapés. While the crowds were still thick we headed to the Great Marquee, always my favourite bit as this is where the specialist growers are. I was fascinated by a display treating a variety of mushrooms like modern art. Another loop took us around the smaller gardens as the paid guests were leaving. The final covered all the main show gardens, seen after the show had closed to the public and the only occupants were the corporate hospitality punters. A lot of them. Everyone in The Newt’s facility plus sponsor’s guests on every garden. A glorious rebel against the informal planting was Mr. Ishikara’s annual Japanese garden (yet another gold medal) a wonder of precision-planted moss, water, Japanese maples, iris and hosta that’s moved across the main avenue to one of the bigger spaces this year. On our breaks, we were quaffing sparkling wine from The Newt owner’s South African estate and cocktails made with The Newt’s gin, while gobbling up delicate canapés made from new season vegetables. (Delicious, but I did need a sandwich on the way back to the Cotswolds to curb my hunger).

Two days later I was introducing my father to the delights of Hidcote Manor Garden, and found myself wondering why anyone gets excited about Chelsea at all. Hidecote was more spectacular than any garden at the show this year, and its succession of “garden rooms” provides just as much variety. Not as convenient for Londoners as popping across town to Chelsea, but very much worth the effort.

The next weekend, the last of my father’s visit, we were back in the capital for art and entertainment. The art was calculated to pull in the British public. Portraits of Dogs at the Wallace Collection is one of the most joyous art exhibitions I’ve ever attended. The curators make a noble attempt to be serious about the art but, really, it’s just an excuse to roll around in lovely stories and pretty pictures of man’s best friend. Landseer’s cavalier King Charles spaniels, in two paintings here, were a natural favourite given I own the breed, but the final room full of David Hockney dachshunds took best in show. Pure, giddy delight.

Much the same can be said for The Bridge Theatre’s new production of Guys and Dolls, where we headed next. This is the best version I’ve ever seen. And that’s saying a lot, given that the last production I saw featured Ewan McGregor as Sky Masterson and I’m including the film version with Sinatra and Brando. The theatre took full advantage of its distinctive “in the round” staging and hydraulic lifts under the floor, with different scenes rising and sinking at such a quick pace it had the immediacy of a three-ring circus. The groundling audience standing on the main stage played the role of the New York crowd, being shuffled to and fro by stagehands dressed as cops. Voices, dancing and costumes were all terrific, and the whole thing left people literally dancing out of the theatre. If there are any tickets left in the run, buy some.

I almost wept with joy at the mundanity of last weekend. It was our first in seven weeks spent entirely at home, with two unscheduled days and no house guests. The next such weekend won’t take place for another six weeks. So it was two days of hard graft in house and garden, battling through piles of laundry and thickets of weeds. Though my plot was starting to look like a Chelsea Flower Show garden, rewilding is not my style. I felt better after the maintenance, and glad to see tidier borders showing off some extraordinary roses. This year’s long, cold spring followed by the sudden late arrival of heat and sun has led to an unprecedented season of blossom.

We couldn’t have a completely uneventful weekend, of course. We nipped down to the Everyman Cinema in Winchester to catch the newly-released Chavalier, the biopic of the French 18th century composer the Chevalier de Saint-Georges. The half-black, Caribbean-born composer made a name for himself at the French court as both a fencing virtuoso and a composer. He had ambitions and a credible shot at taking over the Paris Opera, but an embedded establishment got in his way. Like any historical fiction, this plays with timelines and facts to create a better story and amp up the drama (and racism). The result is an entertaining plot played out in lavish sets and great costumes, with a pleasant but somewhat disappointing soundtrack. I was hoping I’d come out having heard and appreciated much more of Saint-Georges’ music, the film celebrating it the way Amadeus elevated Mozart’s canon. Sadly, we didn’t get as much as I’d like, the authentic music alternating with modern soundtrack stuff that was, presumably, influenced by the composer’s work. It certainly made me want to listen to more Saint-Georges, but buying the soundtrack won’t be the way to do it.

Our night out in Winchester was elevated by a pre-cinema dinner at Brasserie Blanc, then blighted by another evening of horrific performance on the British railways. We arrived at the station for what should have been a simple and inexpensive 18-minute hop to Basingstoke, but found no trains, no updates and no employees. Which is, sadly, not unusual in the UK these days. After waiting half an hour we gave up and found a taxi, to the tune of £80. National Rail apologises and thinks they’ll make it all better with “Delay Repay”. But the compensation on a £7 return ticket is not going to touch that taxi fare. We’ll be driving next time.

Not a bad five weeks on the life front. The fact I managed to balance it with five fairly horrific, stressful, deadline-driven weeks in the office is even more remarkable. It won’t stop there. Because there’s a boarding pass for a flight to Verona on my phone, opera tickets for the festival there in my hands, and weekends booked through August. Brace yourself. We are carpe-ing the hell out of this diem.

Royals, semi-shade and after hours access: Chelsea 2019 highlights

The BBC's official coverage was buzzing with discussions on the year of recycling, the predominance of green and the arrival of the first-ever judged show garden inside the floral marquee. But on the ground at the Chelsea Flower Show this year there was only one topic on everyone's lips: The Duchess of Sussex's garden.

It was not, to be accurate, the Duchess' garden, but rather the RHS' "Back to Nature" garden, designed by Chelsea veterans Adam White and Andree Davies, with royal input. But that didn't matter. To the fans queueing to see it (we waited 45 minutes, at times the wait was reportedly as long as 2 hours) or overheard talking about it, it was "the Duchess' garden" or "the royal garden". Was it worth the wait?

For me, and for most people I overheard: yes. It wasn't my favourite garden of the year, nor did it hold the best plants, but it connected on an emotional level the way few other gardens could. In my case, that's probably because I grew up playing in woodland. The tree swing, the woodland den, the fallen logs and the creek lined with shade-loving plants took me back to the forest in which I spent long childhood summers back in Chesterfield, Missouri. The tree house encrusted with branches to make it look like a bird's next was a particularly fabulous flight of fancy. The garden was also noteworthy for being a space the public can walk through, rather than the usual show garden that you view from the outer edges. Usually, only the media, sponsors and their guests get to walk inside the displays; I expect people would have queued for ages for the privilege even if nobody famous had been involved.

Here are some other highlights.

• The media have proclaimed this "the year of green" because of the amount of foliage on show. The story is more complex. I would have called it the year of the semi-shade garden. Shade, of course, isn't conducive to showy blooms. We saw a lot of impressive trees, spreading their cover over ferns, hostas, astrantias, foxgloves, heucheras and primrose.

• There was still plenty of colour. It was a year of traditional English palettes: gentle blues, purples and pinks contrasted with the occasional pop of yellow or white.

• Every year there seems to be one plant that pops up in profusion across multiple show gardens. This year it was Trollius, aka Globeflower. 

• My favourite garden, and the judges', was the Andy Sturgeon-designed M&G Investments Garden (below). Presumably, when you're the main sponsor of the whole show you can out-gun everyone else on your investment. Certainly, no expense had been spared here as the builders turned a flat space into a forested slope, terraced with massive oak sculptures that had been charred to a deep black. The way the plants and flowers "popped" against that inky background was extraordinary.

• There were fewer jaw-dropping, how-the-hell-did-they-do-that gardens than in previous years, but the Welcome to Yorkshire garden was extraordinary enough to carry that brief. It was an extraordinary feat of construction: a canal, complete with two ancient lock gates leaking in places, water at different levels and a lock-keepers cottage. There's always a debate on whether these things are gardens or stage sets. As impressively naturalistic as the grasses, weeds and plants growing out of seemingly-ancient crevasses in walls were, there wasn't much memorable here as far as flowers and plants go. But full marks, and a gold medal, for creating an illusion.

• Most years a sheik or sovereign wealth fund from the Arabian peninsula sponsors a main show garden for PR purposes. These work best when they bring a taste of the exotic. Dubai's entry this year did not. Aside from its painted earthen walls there wasn't much sense of place, and the planting ... while obviously draught tolerant ... was green and colourful enough to be European. It only dazzled at night, after most visitors have gone.
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• And what was I doing there at night? After more than 20 years of attending Chelsea, I finally scored tickets to some after-hours corporate hospitality. This is the invisible engine that keeps the show going. Corporations (some charities and the rare individual) pay to sponsor the gardens, and can pay more to entertain guests in them for an additional 90 minutes after the public must leave at 8pm. (Though your hospitality tickets let you in from 5:30.) The hour between 7:30 and 8:30 is magical, with unobstructed views and colours becoming more distinct in the twilight. The form is to use this time to see all you can, before turning up on the garden that invited you for drinks, canapés and a short talk from the designer responsible. Our host was the Family Monsters Garden, designed by Alistair Bayford and sponsored by Family Action, a charitable organisation celebrating 150 years of helping families in trouble. The garden was a birch grove, spiralling up a mound with an uneven path and boulders representing the issues all families face. Ultimately the garden leads to a space with benches and a quiet pool, where a family could gather to communicate and be together. This was a garden particularly suited for evening viewing, with the white birch trunks and spires of white foxglove standing out as the day's light faded.

• Almost as exciting as after-hours access was speaking to Kazuyuki Ishihara. The Japanese designer is the only example I can remember of an individual sponsoring his own garden, and he's come from Tokyo every year since 2004, winning 12 gold medals along the way. His trademark stones and boulders covered in moss turn up every year, inevitably with iris, babbling water features and fascinating trees. This year's "Green Switch" garden (below) was no exception, with a glass tea room pavilion on one side and a glass shower room on the other, both overlooking a tiny sylvan paradise. Mr. Ishihara often stands across the path from his garden, alone and un-noticed, as he watches people react. I spent a brief moment telling him how much his gardens inspire me every year and we shared a mutual bow.

• For the regular visitor, Chelsea's glory remains The Great Pavilion, where specialist growers and the nation's most prestigious nurseries come together to show off their wares. In a world where most garden centres are staffed by people who know little about what they sell, this is a chance to get all of your garden problems solved. I usually go with a list of questions, often accompanied by photos of specific issues. I emerged knowing that my geum is infested with whitefly, but cutting it back to the based and watering heavily will probably sort the issue and see the plant spring back from its roots. I understand why my passion flower vine isn't blooming, have the names of better allium varieties to intersperse in my hosta bed (Violet Beauty and Purple Rain) and have scouted out the perfect tulip to plant amongst my forget-me-nots next year (Louvre Orange).

• I emerged with three packets of sweet pea seeds, new gardening gloves and a £5 glass garden ornament. "I never worry about you and Chelsea," said my husband, inspecting my loot. "I know you can't by plants there. Hampton Court's the dangerous one." Quite right, my love. Brace yourself for the 5th of July.

Nope, it's not Chelsea. It's Bencard Gardens, year five

I didn't make it to the Chelsea Flower Show this year. If I had, I would have enjoyed some of the warmest, sunniest days in my history of attendance. I chose, instead, to enjoy my own garden. As my patch enters its fifth full summer since being carved out of the featureless stretch of a new build's back yard, I can proclaim myself satisfied. 

I'm getting the hang of the light and soil conditions. My anchor plants have bedded in. (Well over half my plants ... and the vast majority of those big, showy anchors ... come from Hardy's Cottage Garden Plants. I'm incredibly lucky to have this nationally-famous grower a short drive away.)  My hard landscaping has softened. Chelsea week is a great time for taking stock, so here's an inventory of how my little patch of the green and pleasant land is coming on.

The pond continues to be the heart of the garden and is now fairly self sufficient, with four types of waterlily, grasses, iris, oxygenators and other marginal plants sharing space with fish and frogs. Much of my inspiration and all my best pond plants have come from Waterside Nursery. I was originally concerned about getting plants by mail order, but they've never let me down. The water hawthorn in the top pond is so rampant I now pull about half of it out each spring, it still gave me a lovely spread of white flowers nodding above the water's surface this year.  In the lower pond, the water cress has been blooming for well over a month and the first water lily came out today. The glass flowers in the top pond are a new acquisition from our recent French holiday. The bed edging the pond is my best in the garden, which is no doubt because it gets the most sun.

A closer shot of the pond-edge bed shows off my new-found appreciation for matching orange with purple. The geum and Siberian Iris have been spectacular this year.

Here are my glass flowers and the blooming water hawthorn up close.

Just to the right of the pond, my other bed is framed by steps on both sides going between the top and bottom patios. The bluebells and forget-me-nots were so rampant this year I think I'm going to have to do some serious digging to thin things out. They may be drowning out other perennials. It's hard to see. Certainly the monkshood and a towering chrysanthemum are coming out with a vengeance, and last year's alliums have returned. Possibly a bit smaller, but still beautiful.

 On the lower patio, leading to my office door, the fig in the blue tub is flourishing. The box planter on the left should be a tower of flowers by high summer.

The hosta walk is looking great. And full. I need to start considering how I could anchor more to the wall.

 On the other side of the hosta walk's pergola, rose Generous Gardener is just coming into bloom.

On the stairs between the top and bottom patios, I have herbs, lettuce and cucamelons planted in pots. At the top left, my patio raspberries have set fruit for the first time since I bought them in 2015.

I haven't decided how I feel about this experiment yet. Inspired by all the meadow planting at Chelsea shows past, and especially by the herbal lay in Jekka McVicar's garden last year, I've tried my own. It's not bad, but I think I need more varieties of grass to really make it work.

At the end of my bottom path, near the back door, my espaliered apple (Worcester Pearmain) has set the most fruit ever. About a dozen spotted so far ... much better than the single apple I harvested last year! Hand pollinating with that paintbrush seems to have helped. Turns out this corner really doesn't get enough sun for a bumper harvest, but does mean that I can underplant with more hosta. And lavender, which sends up scent when the back door hits in.

I haven't bothered much with the spaces around the front of the house, with the exception of this hosta bed. I'm very happy with the mix of varieties, and especially with the enormous Sum and Substance in back with the allium coming through its leaves.

I'm working to establish a balance between flowers and stuff I can use in the kitchen. The shot above shows a montage of my edibles. Clockwise from top left: Mediterranean herbs a few steps from the back door; peas, cucumber, courgette (zucchini) and borage in the main bed, exotic mints in pots and regular mint and dill right next to the back door; what were supposed to be winter potatoes failed miserably for the November harvest, but are now coming on with fervour; baby apples; more courgettes set to grow up the pergola and my new Semillon grape vine; a few punnets of strawberries on the way.

I'm particularly happy with some of my planting combinations. Purple and pink remain my anchors. From left to right: Siberian Iris share space with a double-flowering geranium and sea thrift ... though plant-wise I may be most delighted with the alien-like spread of the sempervivum at the bottom; rose Sceptred Isle shares space with forget-me-nots and a rust-coloured verbascum; pink geranium and white tradescantia mix with nigella that's now freely re-seeding every year.

The biggest difference this year, however, is that some of my anchor plants have finally reached a glorious maturity. The centaurea (top left), the water lilies and the rose will keep blooming most of the year.

Not quite a Chelsea Show Garden ... but enough to be very proud of my achievement.

At Chelsea, starting early rewards the floral faithful

Though a Chelsea Flower Show veteran, it's been well over a decade since I went for a full day. The need to take a whole day off work, the more expensive entry ticket and the rush hour train fare all argued for the 3:30 entry. Yesterday revealed that's a false economy.

The hours between 8am and noon are blissful. It's easy to see the gardens. The main avenues are thriving, but not uncomfortable to navigate. We took our time, and were able to see all the show gardens by 3:30. By the time the afternoon ticket holders swelled the crowds, we could turn our attention to shopping. (This year's prizes: gladioli, sweet pea seeds, tulips and a few carefully-chosen plants to fill holes in my water garden. The last two for home delivery, as Chelsea doesn't allow plant sales.) 

Even though I'm a member and could have gotten tickets for the members' preview days (Tuesday and Wednesday), we went on a Friday. Since all tickets always sell out, the numbers are no different on member or general public days. So other than some roses and tulips in the Floral Marquee starting to look a bit tired, there's no real difference. Go early; which day doesn't matter.

It was a year of glorious diversity. Sometimes a style or colour scheme seems to take over the show, spreading a worrying sameness across proceedings. Not this year. There were naturalistic gardens that captured the spirit of Exmoor, Jordan and Provence. Highly structured gardens of sharp lines and box-hedged precision. Crazy gardens with dancing plants (on hidden hydraulics). While sponsorship has always been important to Chelsea, this year it seemed more intrusive than in the past. Most of the small gardens are sponsored by charities, bringing us a lot of planting with grim messages. Death, slavery, impoverished children ... it could all get a bit heavy. Inside the Floral Marquee, thankfully, it remained all about the pure beauty of the plants, and the technical achievement of getting them all to hit their peak for five days in late May.

Let's let the photos speak for themselves.

This evocation of Exmoor interspersed soothing blue and white planting with monumental stone.

The LG garden was heavy-handed with its sponsorship (it was all about how you could control home and garden with their smartphone app) but the strip of planting down the middle of the outdoor living room was effective.

The perfect garden for the obsessive compulsive: Straight lines, precision box hedge cutting, a sunken manicured lawn. I thought the dark red, blue and purple colour scheme worked well.

This one divided opinion. Voted best in show by the all-male judging team. Loved by men, left women lukewarm. Few flowers, mostly orange. Big, black, phallic monoliths. Large fire pit. I was unimpressed.

The mathematical garden. Everything related back to maths or geometry. Intellectually challenging but also lovely; shows that a gravel garden can be more than a low maintenance plot with a few architectural plants.

The Yorkshire garden. Panels of stained glass inspired by York Minster, mirrored by the colours of the flowers below.

Crowds queue up to see the Harrod's garden's spinning trees and whirling borders. Performances on the quarter hour.

Not just about flowers, Chelsea is where you can spend a fortune on garden art. Like these amazing driftwood sculptures.

Huechera. I really need to do more with huechera.

A floral art installation leading to the military hospital. Each crochet poppy was made and contributed by someone in honour of a friend or relative who died in combat.

My favourite garden: Jekka McVicar's exquisite herb garden, where every plant has a medicinal purpose.

Oh, clever Blom's Blooms. Order now, pay on delivery! Of course I did. Bought these two and plan to mix them together for a suitably Northwestern purple and white display.

Had never heard of hepatica until this show. Now, I'm wondering where I can fit this shade loving, late-winter blooming woodland plant.