I have been trying to write here for several weeks. I keep forgetting that what I am doing is making a garden. I keep getting sidetracked (in my head) with the awful things that are happening in the world. And then I remember that what I am doing here in my garden is what I can. This is my sanity in a mad world.

I want to tell you about the rose on the front of the house. The yellow one. It’s called Rosa banksiae lutescens. I first read about this rose in a book of roses about forty years ago. I still have the book. I planted it here four years ago and this year it is flowering for the first time. I have never seen it flower anywhere. All I have had to love has been a picture in a book. I did find a rose in Rome Botanic garden that was labelled Rosa banksiae lutescens but it had a double flower. My rose has a single flower; many single flowers in clusters. The picture in the book has single flowers. This flowering is a dream come true. It is an intentional dream, one I have taken steps to materialise. It is a very beautiful dream. Walk along Gloucester Road and share it with me. No. 38. Admire it in silence and walk on, or knock on the door and I will invite in to the rest of the garden. Much is happening.

I’m sitting in the garden now writing this. Sparrows are chirruping. The sweet cicely that came from next door is in flower, accompanying the rosemary that came with me from Chichester. There are forget-me-nots and Spanish bluebells (which I pretend not to like, they are intruders, after all) splashing blue about the place. For yellow there are dandelions, cowslips and marsh marigolds. Also the laburnum, which has chosen to match precisely the yellow ribbons that hold the springs of Dad’s old chair. And there are lots of fruit flowers, blossoms, inviting bees to share their pollen and make fruit – the comice pear, the boysenberry, the currants, the apple.

Come visit! Or step outside, wherever you are. This is a joyful time in the garden.