One of my earliest memories of a garden is from when I was about three years old. I was just under 3ft tall when I came face-to-face with a yellow flowerhead the size of a tambourine – I was very aware of the size of a tambourine because I had played on one at nursery (rather well, I like to think) only the week before.
This first encounter with a massive chrysanthemum bloom clearly made an impression on me. I was in Avril’s grandparents’ garden. Avril was our lodger, a girl of about 18 who rented a room at the top of our tall semi-detached
