The Elegance of the English Garden

A real English garden shouldn’t really be in a hurry.
It doesn’t shout. Doesn’t pose. Scruffy in parts, it just gets on with being beautiful — quietly.

Chelsea Flower Show tries to capture that magic. And most years — although impossibly crowded and hectic these days — it does, with a good deal of horticultural theatre along the way.

This year, though, a few eyebrows were raised. One of them belonged to Monty Don, who suggested the judging had become a bit too much like a driving test — a tick-box exercise where “delight” was no longer on the form.

He wasn’t being unkind, just candid. So many of these gardens are now more of a construction project than a place of delight. And if there’s anyone who can serve up a little light delight, it’s the Don.

I’m inclined to agree. Not with the gloom — Chelsea is still a joy, if a crowded one — but with the sentiment. There’s a risk that gardening, like wool, gets packaged and sold back to us as a lifestyle. But I think it's deeper than that — when activities that give quiet, long-term satisfaction are turned into something performative.

Consumerism disguised as fashion. It makes the meaningful feel disposable. Devalues aged things. Out with the old... change for its own sake.

A good jumper doesn’t need reinventing. Nor does a garden. Maybe a little darning now and then.

Take our Merino silk shawls. They don’t come in this year’s palette or claim to change your life. (We always had that colour that’s fashionable this year.)
They’re just soft and unfussy. You put one on and forget about it — until the sun sets or the breeze turns. Then you’re grateful you had the sense to keep it near.

The same goes for our British wool jumpers. No fads. No gimmicks. Just proper knitwear that keeps its shape, earns its place, and pairs equally well with a filthy spaniel, a decent bottle of red, or a navy rum.

And our mohair socks? They don't get a lot of rebranding. Warm, light, and oddly addictive. Once you’ve got a pair, you’re at risk of boring people about how they never need washing and always feel clean.

The best rhythms go unnoticed — until someone swaps them out. Then suddenly, your garden’s got decking, and your socks are synthetic.

Of course, not everything at Chelsea was traditional. There were younger designers this year — bolder ones, too. A Very Good Thing. The industry needs new young voices and faces, just as gardens need pruning and replanting. Young people can and should get as much joy from gardens as anyone.

Monty wasn’t swiping at new talent. He just doesn’t want us to lose the plot. Quite literally. Or the joy. Neither do we.

Gardening isn’t decoration. It’s meddling with intent — snipping, shifting, occasionally forgetting — and somehow ending up with something better. Sometimes not. But it’s really all about the doing (as Sarah keeps reminding me).

Wool, oddly, is much the same.

You wear it in. You wear it again.
And over time, it becomes part of your own rhythm.
The jumper that shows up before the toast pops. The shawl that’s always on the bannister.
It starts as wool. It ends as habit.

This bank holiday, you could race off somewhere.
Or you could put the kettle on, pull on something woollen, and take a slow lap of the garden — real or metaphorical.

Not everything that sneaks in needs pulling out. Some things bloom best uninvited.
Letting what grows, grow — that’s its own quiet rebellion.

They say if you want to be happy for an hour, get drunk.
For a day, go fishing.
For a year, get married.
But if you want to be happy for life — grow a garden.
And keep something warm to wear while you’re at it.