Pale purple magnolia globes are nodding in the wind outside the front window, and their petals falling far too soon on the paving in the front yard. They have banana-skin propensities; I have to keep sweeping them up. It’s strange to think that this extravagant flower was apparently an early arrival in the course of evolution. They don’t seem to be good at attracting insects; there are none in sight. Their fleshy petals, it seems, were designed – if that’s the word – as food for beetles. Flowers became more economical as nature grew up; just look at the tiny red dots on an oak.
Is this the most showy spring for years? So it seems, looking along the street at explosions of pink and white in cherries and magnolias. I always wonder who splashed out on Kensington’s floribundance. The comparative austerity (and superior elegance) of our neighbour’s Cercidiphyllum – Katsura to its friends – could almost be seen as a piece of snobbery.
Meanwhile a strong west wind (odd: surely it should be east) keeps coat collars turned up, and garden pottering is rather discouraged by what seems almost constant chopper noise. I suspected Kensington Palace, half a mile away, of causing the nuisance, but surely they don’t fly off every twenty minutes. So at present I am just looking out of the windows to see what’s in flower. The white flowering currant bush, Ribes sanguineum White Icicle, is the eye-catcher of the moment. After ten years it measures seven feet high and wide. Behind on the wall Chaenomeles speciosa Nivalis keeps the white theme going; then there’s a white Bergenia and a pot of Ipheion uniflorum. Not much colour, it’s true. Camellia alba Simplex is another cool customer, but we inherited a big bushy Camellia ‘Top Hat’ which is generous with pink petals. It’s spring alright, but not shirtsleeves yet.
