Paternal love is expressed as a riot of blooms and colour
Kala’s poppies come out as we start sowing more. It is close to her birthday and we are preparing her midsummer garden as we do every year. There are already clematis, mad amounts of jasmine, cascading roses, lolling lavender. It is a heady, sweet-smelling spot in London’s Kentish Town.
We are here to sow her annuals and I’ve been hoarding seed like a kid collecting cards. Kala’s is a smallish terrace townhouse garden with fairly poor soil and visiting cats. But it grows well. Last year there was a nasturtium explosion, which invaded her anxious neighbour’s garden. It was mostly my fault.
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