I remember the faded typewriter script of it: the stipulation, dating from 1963, that there should be no pots or plants on the balcony. It was on the lease of my old London flat. I’d spent 15 months sofa-surfing to get it, and at the final hurdle it transpired I couldn’t garden there after all. Rather than wait for the council’s permission to grow things, I moved my containers in anyway. A few months later my doormat was confiscated as a fire risk. I wondered whether my garden would be next.
Perhaps it was lockdown, but somewhere between the weakening of Southwark council’s resolve (or resources) and the determination of my neighbours, my block of flats ended up becoming more rather than less green. Over that strange spring of 2020, they installed planters and pansies, creepers and containers. Soon it was almost as green as the woodland surrounding it. I believe these remain intact from council purges, but a few miles east in Greenwich, residents of the Vanbrugh Park Estate are campaigning to save their pot-bound front gardens after the council began to dismantle them.
