Start of a week’s garden adventure to Devon, Dorset and Cornwall. Down first to Knoll Gardens to buy some more stipa plants. And fall for these lovely Salvia Caradona plants. Too exquisite be believed. Hope I can take plenty of cuttings from them. If I want a good drift it will take a few years to bulk up the area I have in mind. For now they will have to lurk in the sage and thyme bed until a garden can be found for them.

Rain was alas a feature of the entire week’s trek as well. So this is going to be reduced to a photo essay. Or a confession of a kitchen garden addict as I seem to be. The Lost Gardens of Heligan had me snapping endlessly at espaliered this and glasshouse grown that. And the rows of endless veg all perfectly weeded and immaculately planted had me drooling and dreaming of an under gardener at least. (Heligan uses an army of volunteers. And if I had lived anywhere in the district I would have gladly given a day of my life a week to work there as well. Those wealthy Victorian landowners understood the excess of veg like no other social class.)

I loved how they even managed to organise the beehives to suit the strictures of form and content. Nothing was left to chance. Dare we take up beekeeping in our old age?

And I could murder these rhubarb pots. Who cares that I don’t even fancy rhubarb. The design is in everything.

Colaton Fishacre was a National Trust property on the coast. Also a lovely garden. And put our slopes to shame. I can’t find many pictures to show as it was raining rather well. But the libertia grew abundantly and I wonder if it is hardy. Their planting was positively precipitous. But not half as much as the gardens at the Eden Project.

What a clever group of marketers they have at Eden. If they had merely called it the Eden Gardens they wouldn’t have half the number of screaming and excited children as they do. It is a tourism mega destination. And that means crowds. But so glad we went. The biodomes were more educational than pleasurable (almost as crowded as the show gardens at Chelsea) but it was the outdoor gardens around the domes that held our interest most.

I wouldn’t have missed it. But probably won’t go again. Not so the gardens at Wisley in Hampshire; which draws me back every few months or so. And that’s not just because they have a plant shop that makes you yearn to fill a pantechnicon of plants and drive them straight down to Marsanoux. It is being given the chance to see their big borders and large ornamental grass displays at every time of the year that has me captivated. And things look lush and lovely right now. But I can see how ornamental grasses need something like nepetas or salvias to mix up the green. Piet Oudolf’s borders are stunning. But do much better in August and September than June.

Armed with just a few things from Wisley, it was time to head out to our garden and see just what two solid weeks of rain could do.

A first ever visit to the Chelsea Flower Show. I had always resisted going as I felt I would be struck down with the most virulent form of garden envy known to window box owners if I found the perfect plant, planting scheme, design or tree. I could just see myself falling to the ground in the middle of the Grand Pavilion frothing and wailing and generally making a novice gardener’s disgrace of myself. So I vowed not to go until I had somewhere to vent all the gardening passion and tips that I might glean.

And now after a good few hours trudge around garden paradise it’s time for the photo essay with accompanying minor print. Was it all it was hyped to be? Yes and no. Yes for the sheer size and amount of plant per square inch. But the crowds. So challenging just to get your body in front of any show gardens and after a few hours one had enough. It was like being at the opening of a major art exhibition where you only have time to read the caption and catch a glimpse before being shoved ever so politely on. Thank goodness the television covereage was so extensive. Twas the only way to actually see half the stuff at the show.

The revelation was that there was so much tat there as well. Garden ornaments of the tackiest shape and size seemed to sit most happily next to tractors, fake flower stalls, umbrella manufacturers, seed companies, water features, flower painters and garden furniture. Jan and I tended to zip past those in a desperate bid to actually see some of the gardens before the hoards descended. (We did get there early.) Couldn’t see the courtyard gardens for the crush. And even some of the show gardens were so thronged you barely had time to absorb more than a glimpse.

The show gardens were actually smaller than I thought from television. But being there live did mean that you could marvel at the exquisitely perfect planting. I am afraid I developed a rather strong manifestation of lupin crush. Kept seeing these gorgeous beauties everywhere we looked. And now that I have downloaded the pictures all I seem to have are sixteen separate pictures of Lupins. Plus box balls and stipa and shots of winning flower arrangements. Not much to show for the visual assault of the senses. But there you go.

Dairmud Gavin’s garden was arresting if only because he created some things that I yearn to do in our courtyard at Marsanoux. Hence the many photos. But a lot of gardens were just stunning but left me rather unmoved. I think I understood them. But didn’t want to rip out everything at home and start again.

Inside the flower pavilion was much more fun and accessible. You could even get within breathing distance of many things. And meet the lovely people at Knoll Gardens. (Or if you are interested in growing ornamental grasses – ‘my dealers’.) How many little packets of wonders have I ordered from this small company this past year? I dread to think. But they were friendly and helpful and we are going off to their garden in Dorset next week.

Loved the floral displays. And of course the fruit in the strawberry stand was a marvel. You could smell the strawberries even over the overpowering lily and sweet pea displays. Found the rose pavilions a bit – well, small. Which demonstrates just how poor my judgement is. Small and perfectly formed is more than enough for most people. Must stop being fussy.

There were more vegetable plots on display at Chelsea too. And these were educational as well as pretty. Lots of ideas of herb combining to bring back to our large and rangy beds. I may even be tempted to plant a bay tree. I had always found the bay tree as a standard in a pot so naff.

There is just too much happening everywhere you look. Here in the courtyard the roses are starting to come into blossom. And the little Gertie Jekylls are starting to bud. Have to watch the greenfly of course, but so far they are not too devoured. And now that Nicolas has pruned the old French rose properly, it’s rather fetching.

The planter box that I call the mint prison is full to bursting. The mint was doing what mint does: invading all over the courtyard. I have managed to check its progress (don’t ask) and now have most of the plants confined to a large planter. If all goes well we will have enough mint to last a summer of spuds.

And the alliums (Purple Sensation) are well out in the herb bed right now. They are obviously in a spot which suits them as they are proud and tall and very dramatic. They are supposed to be growing at the same rate as the artichokes, but the little artichokes are still sulking. But they are putting on growth so will soon catch up. They are supposed to hide the rather hideous foliage of the dying alliums when they go over. But it may not happen this spring. I find the purples are rather dramatic growing up against the stone wall.

Hopefully the New Dawn roses which were planted in the autumn will eventually clothe these stones next year and add to the complexity.
Even the figs are budding well. The established tree is in good order. But unfortunately the newly planted ones were smited by the lawnmower. I forgot to give them appropriate fencing when I put them in, forgetting that they would be swamped by fresh growth of weeds by this time of the year. Must do better if I want more crops.

When you have such a large vase in your home you need plenty of pretty plants to fill it to a satisfactory volume. I have nothing to offer from the cutting garden just yet. The lillies are putting on lusty growth in the vegetable garden, but they are a month or so off flowering. So as a filler we collected handfuls of cow parsley on our walk around Mont Godin this week. It’s the weed of choice in this area. Later in the year I hope to have all sorts of home grown things. But right now, any weed will do.

And speaking of weeds: here is the before and after picture of a concrete planter over at St Michel de Chabrillanoux. Having volunteered to help pretty up the village on the green committee, I seem to have inherited the Protestant church. The Catholic church up at the other end of the village is blooming and loved and very well tended by Amelie. But no-one seems to have much enthusiasm for this protestant one. Plenty of people in the churchyard with local names. But not on the gardening committee. So from London came some ornamental grasses, plus some pretty mauve scabiosa flowers. I potted them up one damp Saturday afternoon. And helped remove about four years worth of ivy from the walls and surrounding fences.

Driving back to Marsanoux I spotted the very mauve scabious growing wild just near the letterbox on our very property. Vexing. All those wasteful miles to bring a plant from Wisley garden centre over on the train and into the village. When what I should have done was grub up the weeds around our own house. There’s a message there.

We were standing at Newcastle train station today chortling at the trainspotter who was camped at the far end of the platform noting down all the numbers of train engines that went past. Poor, poor man – what a silly obsession. Fancy getting that worked up about a hobby that involves meticulously noting down each and every thing that comes into one’s orbit? In his case, trains. Natty clothing mind you. He was well rugged up in that perfect English-sounding jacket – the cagoule.

And then of course I sat down in the carriage, opened up the laptop and contemplated doing just that. Not the train engine numbers. But the numbers of brassica seedlings I have sown and potted on. And I suddenly thought. Am I any different from a trainspotter? All this obsession with counting and collecting. And to anyone who doesn’t want to know just how many seedlings of lime basil came up and were transplanted last week in my potting shed, about as enthralling as train numbers.

But what to do? Entertain, or record assiduously all that is planted and pruned and when. One of the pleasures of this diary of the garden is I am forced to note down when I plant things, take pictures every day, and not worry about losing bits of notes and pages that look like hieroglyphics once they have been in my back pocket, gone through the wash and then hauled out in London or on the train and written up.

Feel free to be distracted by the pictures. There’s way too many lists of seedlings ahead.

Random notes from the back pocket.

Before I left in April I had a mad sowing session of many of the seed packets lurking in the office back at the house. No point having them there. Time to get them in some soil and see what comes up. Well. Was I surprised. So much germination. This wonderful potting shed is outdoing itself in the optimum atmosphere for crops. Here is a list of what went in and was left for two weeks to get on. (Excuse the typos)

Hordeum jubatum
Deschampsia flexuosa
Panicum virgatum
Echinacea leuchtstern
Miscanthus nepalensii
Chionochloa rubra
Miscanthus sinensis
Chaerophyllum hirsutum var roseum
Sanguisorba officianalis
Poppy black paeony (ah, English at last)
Chives
Lupin My Castle
Basil lime
Sanguisorba tenufolia purpurea
Calamagrostis brachytricha
Sanguisorba menezeisii
Eupatorium purpureum

I also sowed nicotiana lime green, chleome Reine rose, Asparagus pea, and then for fun potted up 45 Verbascum Aaron mix and seemed to have 16 spares that just wouldn’t go into their pots. Why? I ran out of potting mix. Which is a shame as massive volumes of just about everything is what this garden needs. Shall come back with more of the black stuff next trip to the garden centre.

Saturday morning: the light comes into the bedroom soon after 630am and my brain starts a-whirring. Listen to the BBC radio via the internet while I make a pot of tea. Attend to emails, wash the floors, try and attach a washer to the spray back pack I borrowed from Nicolas, head out to the garden. Build up a bank of soil around the little apple tree to help it maintain moisture. Rake the grass, water the said apple tree, marvel at the din the frogs are making in the pond near the pool (It’s Jurassic Park out there) and then come inside at 8 to start the day.

Monday 12th May: to the potager. Up at the top of the property the soil is so much richer and deeper and the weeds even mightier. But once you can scuttle up the steep slope and undo the wire fencing, it’s a very satisfying way to spend a morning. The potatoes have all come up and needed earthing. The extra asparagus plants have gone into the gaps. And all the weeds congregating around the peas and bean plants yanked out and added to the compost heap. With my embarrassing glut of brassicas I have found a repository for about 40 of them. I have planted a row of red bor Kale next to a whole row of land cress.

Things look rather regimented and lovely here now: from right to left a cutting bed of soft fruit cuttings, kale, land cress, two rows of pink fir apples, raspberries (starting to show growth at last), charlotte potatoes, asparagus, broad beans and last but not least yet more peas.

Inside for lunch and then just as I was poised to trudge down to the vineyard to hack at weeds the heavens opened and we experienced a mighty downpour. Well, it proably wasn’t that dramatic, but when you are standing in your potting shed and the rain is drumming on a Perspex roof it sounds very impressive. So I stayed. (I did have a sneaky packet of biscuits after all in the random objects box) And potted up the lupins, the antirhinnum snowflakes and the poppies. And for an encore had a go at climbing French beans, more verbenas, nepeta grandiflora, eggplants, basil lime, yet more swiss chard (I’m trying to get more reds and yellows, but the ones that germinate seem to have a preponderance of green stems rather than the bright lights I was hoping for. So I keep sowing.)

And then in the almost darkness it was down with another wheelbarrow of brassica seedlings and cramming them into the allotted brassica bed at the lower plot. I have to plant them up the little terraced bank. Which I’m sure is a sin against terraced farming, but I just have no more room. They are already flanking the main pathway of the potager – which rather scuppers my plans of having a dear little flowing path of flowering chives. Next year. This year there are greens to plant and hopefully eat.

It’s an auspicious time for tomatoes. Or so the lunar calendar tells me. But actually it was time to plant them out as they are bursting their pots and they have been hardening off long enough. In went twelve tomato plants to the complicated design of the onion bed. Six marmande and six beef steak varieties. These are in the spot where the garlic used to be.

I know I planted garlic bulbs back in the autumn (note for next year, plant the garlic and onions in spring instead; the onions are already bolting) but they seem to have been either uprooted by the mole, or just not made it through the winter intact. So plenty of room for the tomato factory. Plus two long rows of rocket seedlings that all germinated beautifully.

I weeded the strawberries (first crop of two mid-May, not bad) and had a go at weeding the beetroot beds. Actually I can’t really see what is beetroot and what is weed. That will teach me for not hoeing to a fine tilth first before I sowed. And blaming the very thin and poor soil in that part of the vegetable garden.

I am strimming at last. So the raked grass is going down as a mulch between the rows of beans and peas. Not sure if it is the right thing, but it is a lovely bouncy mulch and may just deter some of the weeds.

Then in the afternoon (don’t ask me which one, I can’t read my notes) down to the vineyard with a sharp mattock-like hoe. I spent two hours labouring away and managed to weed seven rows of vines. It was a peaceful if exerting exercise. The poor vines have been pruned well, but the base of each plant is matted with sinuous brambles and long grass which carpet the entire vineyard. I tried out a few other implmenets first and then settled on this sharp hoe. Hacking away with the sharp edge to cut the brambles, then scraping and pulling to give the vines some room. I was listening to a dramatisation of Anthony Powell’s Dance to the Music of Time as I worked and the tedium of the story (just can’t feel much empathy for the characters, alas) suited the task. I have seven done but twelve more rows to go. About two hours was enough to cause all sorts of aches in the back and arms. And small blisters to break out on the hands. Goodness only knows when I will be able to get down and do more of the vines. Strimming really ought to come first.

Tuesday:Potted up ten cucumber plants (the Burpless Tasty Green variety – can’t beat a name like that) twenty Gardener’s Delight tomatoes, and sowed borlotti beans, swiss chard bright lights and yet more corn. This was only a brief interlude between visits to nearly Chalencon with my aunt and uncle; plus a visit to the perfectly manicured potager at Nicolas’s chateau. My his lines are perfect. And I note that his preparation of the soil is so meticulous. All his pea plants seem to come up at the same height and spacing. Mine are a bit more erratic. But growing well as you can see.

Wednesday notes just say potted up 52 cavallo nero kale, dug a trench and potted up 12 asparagus pea. Does this mean I am up to date? I think so. Last action before the train journey was to ‘prune back’ some of the heavy branches of the viburnum snow ball tree. I have an armful to bring back to London. And pictures of the beautiful wisteria just coming into flower.

Oof, good to be able to sit down at last. Beer tastes so much better when you have had a hard day’s toil. More vineyard work today. I didn’t manage more than two rows but I’m more than halfway so that’s encouraging. Mighty tedious work. I have a new respect for vignerons.

But the theme of the day was the mighty Verbascum. I seemed to spend most of the time either strimming the wild ones (huge triffid like yellow things that are peppered throughout every terrace of our land) or potting up the new ones. Verbascum Aaron mix was what I sowed back in march and blow me if they didn’t all germinate. So like a good new gardener, I potted them up and grew them on. And now there are 45 plants out in the new flower garden and they need to thrive. They have the elements and the deer to avoid. And the weather.

We have had the most wonderful soaking rain each evening for a week. What’s the bet it stops now and everything gets parched and desiccated. Nicolas has promised to swing by and do a bit of watering, but it’s a nervous time for this first time gardener. Well, first time for flowers in quantities. I have moved every single seed tray out of the shed and into the elements. They stand a better chance out there than baking indoors in the potting shed. I hate having to go away for two weeks. This is that amazing time of the year when things seem to grow before your every eyes.

The weeds certainly do. Strimming is fine with our mighty new Stihl; you don’t even have to kill yourself getting it started. One good pull and off it purrs. Today’s fun was to finish all the little bits I missed near the vegetable gardens, and make some paths through the flower meadows.

Oh yes, we are going for meadows. For the simple expedient that it’s damn hard work mowing 10 acres of grass. So paths through the weeds (sorry, wildflowers) it is. The hardest part is the raking afterwards. Too tedious for words. Is there any chance we can get a mower with a grass catcher attachment on the back? It would save hours every time.

I even resorted to using the car boot as a large wheelbarrow to help pick up the grass cuttings on the top road first thing this morning. Luckily Jean Daniel didn’t speed past as I was ankle deep in piles of cuttings. Easier to rake everything onto the road and then pick up later.

The property was buzzing with people today. Bernard finishing the carpentry in the new bathroom, and Nicolas and Simon doing rock work. Will we have enough to finish the bottom wall? I hope so. They are so desperate for stones that they are cannibalising the absolutely lowest terrace just near the vines. The rest of the terraces have been picked clean. Makes strimming easy I must say. No jagging the strimmer cord in stones as you swoop along the grass.

Pickings from the vegetable garden finished off the day. Lovely strawberries for dessert, first mangetout peas (not many, but enough to feel the pea season has kicked off) and juicy salads. Hopefully when I come back in June everything else will be roaring away. And I can take back an armful of flowers. Snowballs from the viburnum are so abundant that the branches are groaning under their weight. The white lilac across the path is a damp squib. Few flowers and over already. And the Deutzia is sulking. It if flowers at all I will be amazed. It’s due for a mighty prune in July. And I threaten to be a brute.

Watering in the late evening; I wish I had time for a good old weed of the lower vegetable bed. It’s verdant. In both edibles and weedables. You can’t even see the beetroot seedlings for the unwanted greens that have sprung up in that part of the garden scheme. But I have to think of the positives: the strawberries are fruiting and some are even pale pink. We have eaten salad for the past two days and they are growing well. The flowers on the broad beans are cheery, and the peas are putting on height and girth. (Must try and remember to add more supports tomorrow). I have oodles of brassicas just waiting to go in. And my tomatoes are bursting out of their pots.

Germination has been too successful up in the potting shed. I can’t bring myself to throw away seedlings. So I ended up potting up 52 cavalo neros yesterday. If I ran out of pots it would have been easier. But the excitement is too much. Things are growing and I am just the facilitator. I’ve almost run out of room in that little shed. I need to get the flower border levelled and cleared of stones. And get things in the ground. No use having plants withering up there while I’m away.

The main gardening even this week wasn’t gardening at all. But hot weary digging. The future lawn next to the swimming pool had standing water from the last mighty downpour of rain. And we just knew that another trench had to be dug to get the water to flow away. Luckily my aunt and uncle from Australia were visiting. And Peter very kindly lent a hand. Well, lent a back and a sturdy pair of leg plus expertise and skill. We had the mighty trench dug in an afternoon. Two workers are faster than one. So we probably saved Nicolas (and our bank account) a day of sweaty toil. If all goes well we can have turf on that side of the pool next week. Or the week after.

For the rest of the gardening news I have to scrabble amongst the notes I have been making these past few days. If I can remember where I put them.