The front garden here is tiny. It’s a semi-detached house about a metre back from the pavement. Just at the moment it is a joy. The blue forget-me-nots contrast perfectly with the yellow banksian rose, Rosa banksiae lutescens, the fig tree has lots of embryo figs which I believe will swell into mother figs, the emerging leaves of the pomegranate are small bronze soldiers, there is a merry dandelion, the Japanese quince has flowers, the hart’s tongue and wee folks stockings are clinging to the wall, and the mullein, in the spot it chose for itself, is girding its loins as it prepares to fire its flower spike up into the clouds.

All this and more in four square meters. There is a caterpillar in the ointment, but it is also an opportunity. On the other side of the path that leads to our front door is a box hedge. It has been attacked and looks wretched. My son Tom tells me it is probably box caterpillar, a killer pest. But what could I put there instead? A dwarf lavender hedge – scented, useful, neat, even colourful and ready to call to mind the lavender fields of Simiane. The box hedge is marching towards the firepit of its own volition!

I need to mention the banksian rose again. It is so beautiful. I was a little dissappointed last year when it got all mildewy and tearful (that might have been me), but this year it is spectacular. If you live locally please walk along Gloucester Road and be joyful at the sight of it. The picture here is unjust.