Last weekend I was down in London for my birthday. Now, just outside of London, and to the north, there is a place called Serge Hill. It’s set at a high point above the Hertfordshire countryside, and it’s where I spent a lot of my childhood with my very oldest friend, Rose (she is now an artist: buy her paintings).
While I was there, The Barn at Serge Hill was hosting its first festival of garden literature, and if that’s not a combination of all your favourite things in one weekend then you and I might not get along so well.
The programme of events (a play about Constance Spry, a history of the rose in literature, a garden writing competition) was lovely, but the star of the show was really the garden. It’s the personal garden of Tom Stuart-Smith, who has designed precisely all of the world’s most beautiful gardens. So it’s a bit special.