I find myself sat under a large triangular shelter, built snugly into the southern corner of a three-sided walled garden open to visitors, known as Baddesley Clinton. In their down-season dress, ornamental flower borders line three of the garden’s walls, sprinkled here and there with red bows bringing a little Christmas cheer. The sky is fixed grey and moody, and after warming myself with lunch in the bright bustling café, this spot seemed as good a place as any other to sit awhile and write.

Built primarily as a shady summer retreat, I’m certain that in the heat of summer, this shelter offers cool respite for visiting guests, and for working gardeners too. In this shade, time served timbers and darkened joists support a thatched mossy roof, under which a tangled bird’s nest rests in the shadows; just like me. Red bricks line the floor,
Continue reading
