Chelsea – the Best for Many Years «

Chelsea – the Best for Many Years

Friday 27th May 2016

And we had superb celebrity exposure including a direct encounter with household names known to Laura Malcolm and Matt Driver.

Aunt Lavinia was thrilled. Clare Balding was there. Laura Malcolm can’t stand her. We went in the Pullman train, we saw the granite sarcophagus with peep-holes for the garden inside it. We didn’t peep but wondered at the granite – a thing of wonder in itself. We took the Slave Garden, with its black space in the middle behind doors (where modern slavery occurs) and classic Caribbean planting round the edge, such as seen in Royston King’s garden (he was there, on a huge poster inside the tent, positioned behind Her Majesty, waiting to take over). The profile of that Lady, recessed through a thick wall with receding layers of flowers, wasn’t common. It was somehow arresting. We saw the field of knitted poppies. For the first time, as Royston pointed out, they’ve opened up the view to the Hospital. Cleve West’s garden for M & G was subdued, intriguingly quiet as to planting but let down by horrid smooth grey slabs on the floor. The Best in Show was Best in Show. Absolutely marvellous. Rare Mediterranean, Australian, Californian arid-loving plants as never seen before at Chelsea. A Designer’s garden, with strange metal slabs up-ended, really sumptuous polished stone flooring and clapper-bridge. One wouldn’t have it oneself but a Garden Designer has got to design a garden and this was as good as it can be. Next door was Worst in Show – the Brewin Dolphin garden – utter horror. Unfortunately Aunt Lavinia is still with them. The Gay Mother and I are not. The Occitaine Garden was marvellous except it had Rachel Da Thame in it. Get out of the Occitaine Garden, Rachel Da Thame. It was a quarry, dried up and dusty, trees and plants. Gold Medal, thank goodness. We also much liked a garden by a child-designer, who was in it – it was all about Jordan. Lovely pines, such as you see in Jordan, as I know. The York Minister garden, much heralded, was perfectly frightful. Blowsy, common planting supposed to be one of the windows at York Minny and vile ecclesiastical structures intruding.

No time for the artisan gardens round the back this year. So much to see elsewhere. Rather a good thing, because we also avoided the garden accessories area where Aunt Lavinia would surely have loudly condemned the goods in the hearing of their purveyors. Her voice, as you know, once ruled England.

By the granite sarcophagus was Evan Davis – extraordinary spider-like figure. Looked much better than on TV. Bronzed, in mildly waxed, quite frank jeans, probably very expensive. But it was earlier, before we reached Best in Show that we were whirled to screaming heights. I had the Gay Mother on the phone at the time. Laura and Matt were speaking to a het couple. Laura was trying to introduce me but I was snappy. ‘No, no,’I said to the lady, in fitted summer tweed shift dress. ‘I can’t meet you. I’m on the phone.’ Too late did I realise. This was a huge household name, her husband even huger. Matt and Laura have known them since Uni. There was correspondence and romance failing to loom. Now she is a magnificent deep celebrity runny honey colour, signalling a departure from reality and he of course on TV every week for the last 30 years is a blameless character although satirical. I said to the Gay Mother in the Far West, ‘You won’t like who we’re with…’ ‘Oh but I do. He’s got a sense of humour and loves the cathedrals.’ They were there because of their bank, she said. ‘Do you own the bank?’ I enquired. ‘Or did you tick one of those boxes when opening an account and win kets in a lottery?’ ‘No,’ she said, ‘we were invited, then disinvited. I made such a stink we got back on the list.’

We also saw some Chelsea Pensioners in wheelies. Laura Malcolm can’t stand them. Ever since that incident when they attacked Ivy Driver for playing with her ball in their park. She was only two.