Today I have decided that I quite like autumn. Up until this point I wasn’t quite sure. For many years summer was my favourite. Then, as I became more and more embroiled in the quicksand that is horticulture, spring became my No. 1. Something about the feel of things today made me question my preferences, I was softening to the prospect of windscreen wiping mornings, to the soft light and gentle breezes, to the winding down and hunkering up. In the past I have seen autumn purely as winter’s herald, the forerunner of dark and dismal. And then today an epiphany. It is Lauren Bacall, it is Helen Mirren, not trying to be virginal spring or gaudy summer but celebrating itself, mature and majestic.
The Hot Garden at RHS Rosemoor bides its time until early autumn to put on its best performance. It certainly is worth waiting for.