Wednesday 18th September 2013

Invitation figures continue to rise. Dare we speak of the green shoots of recovery?

Friday at Bruce McBain’s, where he was fearfully ragged over his lack of pre-cooking of the plums by some new Poor Little Rich Gays. Saturday to Houghton for the once-in-lifetime Return of the Paintings from the Hermitage, missing the Alice Temperley Show. I wasn’t able to attend Joshua Baring’s private tour conducted by Lord Linley in June owing to pressure of engagements. Robert Nevil himself gave a talk about the Pony Club in the garden at Houghton, also in June, or perhaps May. Monday to the Warehouse apartment of Angus Willis and Fergus Strachan for a post-Tuscany dinner. Tonight the premiere of a play about Constance Spry who did the flowers for the Coronation. Can you imagine the Heaven?

Otherwise I’m up to my eyeballs in assignments for Dainty Lady TV. There’s a run on my greatness at the moment. Last week it was Ikea, this week it’s my Cruising thoughts. A colour piece is required, no facts.

All the more fuel to my mission to resemble Queen Victoria this autumn. At the Warehouse I said, ‘Where’s my drink?’ exactly 90 seconds after arrival.

So – we say farewell to gardens (almost) for this year. I’ve been storing up for a long time the wretchedness of Sissinghurst which we visited in June – bare earth, colour clashes, muddle-headed arrangement of plants. No flair or plan. V. disappointing.

The Gay Mother’s garden has been astonishing, especially in late August. Even herself, never satisfied, is minded at last to say so at the age of 89.

Hideous Clash but Not Fun: Sissinghurst in June

Inspired: Sissinghurst the White Garden: Even if in Flower, Wouldn’t Do

Sissinghurst: Ghastly

Sissinghurst: Horror

How It Should Be: The Gay Mother’s Garden in her 90th Year: August 2013

The True Garden: the Gay Mother’s Garden in her 90th Year, August 2013