Not the Chelsea Flower Show

I’ve been to the CFS a couple of times, exhibited there just once. I enjoyed it, from both perspectives. The older I get though, the less it moves me. I’m happy pootling away in my own garden and on the allotment. I’m interested in what other people like me are up to, somehow Chelsea is at a remove from my concerns. I’m not sure why that is, perhaps something about it not being real, like a show put on for peoples entertainment and forgotten about as soon as the next one comes along. Makes me feel like an outsider looking in at something I don’t altogether understand, even though it was the industry I was in all my working life. In my garden I’m an insider looking out, immersed, cocooned, at home.

I ambled round this morning with my camera; there seemed to be a lot flowering, I was going to count how many. I lost myself and lost count.


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