Flower rage

There were glum faces all round in the Plant Heritage Marquee at the Hampton Court Flower Show this morning, as we exhibitors surveyed the results of the previous afternoon's judging. The chairman of the panel gallantly visited each exhibitor to give 'feedback' (when and where did this loathsome term originate?). Medusa herself could not have gazed with greater malevolence at his broad departing shoulders than the man who grows auriculas - small, revolting plants like primroses on steroids - better than anyone else in the world, but whose efforts were deemed unworthy of a medal of any description.

I was in total agreement with the judges on the subject of my gong. I got a bronze medal, the horticultural equivalent of being the Norwegian entrant in the Eurovision Song Contest. All this came about because my dear friend Margaret Owen, with whom I share an unnatural enthusiasm for Veratrum, asked me whether I'd help her exhibit the genus at Hampton Court. I couldn't refuse, and didn't want to but, as the event approached, I realised that I hadn't paid enough attention to pampering the plants I was planning to show. I was trying to summon up the courage to suggest to Margaret that perhaps we should withdraw with as much grace as possible and try again another year when I received a phone call from her daughter-in-law. Margaret was in hospital, having developed arrhythmia during the night. In the circumstances pulling out was inconceivable.

Here is a picture of my losing entry, shortly before judging commenced.

Now I imagine that you are looking at this picture and thinking that the judges were generous but bear in mind that 24 hours earlier it looked like this.

About half a tonne of limestone went into making the cliff on the left and about 200 plants, from three continents. were incorporated into the display. One of the comments that the chairman made was that I had included too many plants, a little unjust I felt at the time, given that this was a flower show. In the film 'Amadaeus', Emperor Josef II, in discussion with the composer Salieri, is given the splendid line "My dear young man, don't take it too hard. Your work is ingenious. It's quality work. And there are simply too many notes, that's all. Just cut a few and it will be perfect." I know now how Salieri felt.

Today was fun. The other exhibitors in the Plant Heritage Marquee loved the display, which means a great deal more to me than the judges' verdict, and I've made some new friends. I was talking all day to interested punters, most of whom were fellow enthusiasts. I got slightly bored with answering the question: "Oooh, is that an orchid? (pointing to Lilium martagon)" with "No madam, its a lily." But then I have been known to ask friends "Who wrote this song?" while inadvertently tapping my feet to "Hey Jude".

Flowers are cool and so are flower people.