One week to go before we start at Hampton Court. My shoulder is slowly improving but a long way from its usual efficient self. The last few days have been good for resting without being bored. Several meetings and a visit to Future Gardens, which was interesting and a subject I may well return to at a later date.
One meeting I particularly enjoyed was the Chelsea debriefing with the Quilted Velvet team. I think I can safely say that the Chelsea garden was a success. Much to my surprise the vast majority of the public and press seemed to enjoy it. This, if you have any idea of my past work, is a very strange feeling and a little unsettling as I know where I am with reactions like, and I quote. ‘That’s not a garden. How ridiculous. What on earth is that about?’ And my personal favourite, ‘Well that’s interesting but not very practical for children.’ With the more positive responses I find myself waiting for the ‘but’ that as yet hasn’t arrived.
Back to the Quilted Velvet team in the office and the strange cult that seems to be developing. I had been told about the shrine, but it only dawned on me what they meant when I walked in and there it was, a whole wall covered in press cuttings. This is, I feel, dangerously appealing to my ego and must be stopped before it gets even more out of hand. The shrine thing, not my ego!
But now totally seriously, I would like to say a big thank you and well done to both the Quilted Velvet team and the Hortus infinitus team for a job not just well done but exceptionally well done. As is traditional I am now blubbing Kate Winslet style all over the keyboard and can’t see wjat I am tyoing.
Now recovering my composure I would like to get one thing straight. Certain mischievous people, who I need not name here as they know who they are have scandalously suggested that my gardens may contain hidden, subversive, subliminal or even salacious messages or meanings. I would like to take this opportunity to state once and for all that anything anyone sees in my designs beyond my stated intentional message is down to their own furtive imaginations, and I would advise thorough cleansing of their minds and perhaps a course of psychotherapy with Mr Freud.
Finally, a journalist asked me a great question at Chelsea: “Are you a real gardener?” to which I should have said, “No dear, I am a figment of your imagination.” But alas I was either a) too polite b) too slow or c) too sensible
Don’t you just hate not being Oscar Wilde or Dorothy Parker!