A writerly word, if I may

Well, fancy that. I am a little bemused but flattered to say I've been tagged by VP over in Chippenham, with a meme for garden writers.

Well, having spent most of the weekend trying frantically to catch up on at least one or two of the 101 articles I've been asked to squeeze in between trips to Thorpe Park and other such ungardenly things during the kids' summer holidays, I guess that pretty accurately describes me. So - here goes:

Which words do you use too much in your writing?
Oh dear - every word that was roundly Colborned last month. Stunning and lovely being the worst offenders. I have since his post however tried my best to censor such inanities and instead work in an "orgasmic" or two somewhere. Haven't managed it yet, but give me time.

Which words do you consider overused in stuff you read?
I refer the honourable member to my previous answer.

What’s your favourite piece of writing by you?
Oh my word, what a question. I can list several features I've enjoyed writing - the one on cutting gardens for Period Ideas, for instance, or several very nice interviews I've been sent on by the Richmond Magazine. Or nearly all my posts on this blog, which are really a dreadful indulgence which no real writer should be allowing themselves. But since I almost always agonise over every bit of writing I ever do, I don't think I can pick one out that I could call an actual favourite. Sorry.

What blog post do you wish you’d written?
Nearly every single one by James The Hat. I am insanely jealous.

Regrets, do you have a few? Is there anything you wish you hadn’t written?
I did some gardening product reviews once for a now-defunct online womens' lifestyle ezine with an unhealthy interest in making things sexy which I'd rather forget, thank you.

How has your writing made a difference?
I don't have a clue if it's made a difference to anyone else, though I hope so, somewhere. But (and I risk becoming maudlin and sentimental here) it has made all the difference in the world to me, and my kids, who now get to see me as much as they like (more or less) and have a cheerful and muddy mummy instead of a ground-down dead-end job mummy. And I'm earning a living. It doesn't get much better than that.

Name three favourite words
"Aquamarine", "translucent", "surreptitious" .

…And three words you’re not so keen on
“Sustainable", "naturalistic", "slug".

Do you have a writing mentor, role model or inspiration?
It's really a list of garden writers I admire and would one day like to emulate, even if just a little. Christopher Lloyd (of course); Monty Don (I shall hereby duck the rotten tomatoes: but sorry, I like the man, and I especially like the way he writes). And Frank Ronan in Gardens Illustrated.

What’s your writing ambition?
To keep doing what I'm doing for as long as possible and avoid anyone finding me out.

Plug alert! List any work you would like to tell your readers about:
I've just started writing for the Kew Magazine. And they're sending me on some really plum assignments to write Proper Features - a little daunting, but very satisfying.

Now I think I'm supposed to pick out four of my own favourite writers which is a horribly difficult task: not only are there too many to whittle down to four, but VP has already nicked some of my favourites herself and I don't think it's the done thing to double-meme people.

But anyway, I'll do what I can: here are four taggees (now there's an ugly word) selected at random from those whose writing I particularly admire and would like to hear more about:

Nigel Colborn (yes, I know I've mentioned him already)
Martyn Cox
Lila Das Gupta
Nancy Bond
Arabella Sock

The Wisley glasshouse

One of the great privileges I have with my garden writers' hat on is that I get to go to sneak previews - and last night I went along to the unveiling of the new glasshouse at RHS Wisley, which opens to the public for the first time today.

Since I'm such a regular visitor to Wisley, I've been watching this amazing structure going up gradually over the years, and went along to another press bash in February to see it as the planting went in - well, then it was almost entirely under water after a winter of torrential rain, and we were all taking bets on whether it would be ready in time to open.

We needn't have worried. It's quite amazing what they've done in the four months since then: it still looks very "new", and the planting outside (designed by Tom Stuart-Smith) is just in so will take some to show what it's made of: but inside it is breathtaking. It's going to be wonderful watching it grow over the months and years to come.

Here it is: a little stark, perhaps, until the exterior landscaping develops, but a remarkable structure nonetheless. It was designed in Holland, and doubles-up as a water collection system.

At the centre is a magnificent waterfall - you walk behind it as you pass from the temperate side into the tropical. The rock is artificial, and hides a "root zone" exhibit underneath.

There were orchids in the palm trees: I wasn't quite sure if they were there for our benefit, or if they're going to stay! They looked fantastic, anyway.

And then there were the plants... these Philodendron leaves were up to two feet long and that soft, velvety texture was so utterly gorgeous. And this is just a baby plant...

Outside in Cleve West's teaching garden, there were loads of great ideas - I'm going to nick this fantastic birch-log path for the jungle area around my pond.

Tulips again!

I'm currently reading Anna Pavord's "The Tulip" - it's been around for a while, but I thought since I've spent much of last autumn planting over 100 tulips in my own garden it was about time I found out about them.

What a lovely book. It's quite heavy-going, I find, largely because the scholardship is so dense: but once you've got into it, you can't help but be drawn in by the extraordinary story of this unique flower.

It's evident from the first page how well-educated Anna Pavord is: I'd always suspected it of her, but now I have proof that she not only speaks French, but 17th century French at that: the only trouble is she does rather assume her readership is as erudite as she is, and leaves great passages untranslated. I'm lucky enough to speak near-fluent modern French - but I find this is beyond me.

Never mind: it's not necessary to enjoy the book. It's full of little amazements: did you know, for example, that the French had their own version of tulipomania a full century or so before the Dutch? Or that the Turkish, who began the tulip craze, spurned the traditional European goblet shape (or more accurately, didn't even consider it in the first place) for the acutely waisted shapes only seen these days in Parrot tulips and the like?

Anna Pavord is one of those people who has always existed in the horticultural firmament. I can only wish I were half as good - or indeed as successful - a garden writer as she. I can't make out a professional gardening connection, but she's one of the best kind of gardeners: that is, one who has learned her craft through her own personal experience. She spent 30 years restoring a garden in Dorset before moving and starting again. She made her name with this book, though she has several others to her name, all sharing her particular brand of intelligence and insight. She just seems to be a true enthusiast and scholar of all things garden-related.

It's made me see tulips in an entirely different light. I'm looking forward to my spring blooms all the more for reading this: a whole new layer of knowledge and pleasure to add to what I hope will be a wonderful display.