A piece in praise of happy garden accidents. The plants you sort of pick up on the way. In pride of place on the roof terrace we have a lurid pink geranium I bought on impulse outside a Budgens a few years ago. Now it’s happily covered in bloom every summer.
There is a large pot of hanging begonia, scarlet like 50s film-star lipstick, that we picked up at the local farmers’ market (Henri, to be fair, was unsure). There are other assorted lupins and coloured African daisies. The list goes on. Pots that shouldn’t go together somehow shine.
