I was never much one for potted bulbs. The allotment was for vegetables, and fruits and annual flowers. Our terrace had been a cascade of clematis, climbing roses, jasmines and rhododendron. Walls covered with flowering trellis. A country garden on a small city rooftop.
With the arrival of Plot 29, Henri took over at home. Soon gone the tonne of marble pebbles, the failing teak furniture, the almost claustrophobic colour. In came a cleaner, leaner Danish-architect aesthetic. No longer trying to clutter my foster-father’s Devon croft on to a Kentish Town terrace. Sprawling plants and bushes found new homes in Kala’s garden where we can happily still see them.
