Working in several different gardens for a variety of characters poses many challenges. “Where I am?”, is one of them. “Who are you?”, is another. However, one of the trickiest things has been remembering individuals’ tastes and preferences. And there are a surprisingly varied range of these requirements; they are indeed a singular bunch. Standing in the garden centre, like a rabbit in the headlights, I rack my brains trying to remember who likes what. This matching has to be right, disappointment is not an option. I feel like the MD of a horticultural dating agency. Was it Tracey who adores yellow flowers or did she say she can’t stand them? Does Humphrey loathe grasses or desire the prairie way? Did Cristabel say anything but roses or any roses? The exception is Lavinia, as far as I can see she loves them all, the more disreputable the better. Except perhaps for dahlias, but I am sure she just hasn’t met the right one yet. When we come to weeding and the hazy area of self-seeders it gets further complicated. What is Morris’s take on aquilegias, thumbs up or down? Would Felicity scream if she saw me removing this fern or cheer? Would Desmond cringe as I carefully weeded around another foxglove. It really is each to his own, and of course no one is right or wrong, the problem is I have so many “eaches” who are the proud owners of so many “owns” that I can’t keep up. Writing it down would be one option, granted, but not quite so exciting. Surely, however, no one could object to a self seeded verbascum? Surely?