My Garden

I don't have a garden. Previously, when I lived in London, in the suburbs, I had a garden behind the house. It was narrow but quite long – about sixty feet – and didn't get much sunlight, given the huge tree which, rooted in the ground of the neighbouring garden, blocked my light with its branches and thick foliage. But I had shade-tolerant plants, bushes, and a small pond where frogs sometimes lived. In the evening I sat down to watch bats flitter between the trees. It was never going to be Monet's garden, but I had a glass annexe there that I used as a painting studio. It was low maintenance, this green space, since I'm not very interested in plants themselves. I used to read up on gardening, plant what’s appropriate, and let the vegetation get on with it. There were hedge plants from Wiggly Wigglers, some shade-loving plants and ferns, and a yew tree at the end of the garden, that I planted some time around 2006.

And when I spent time in my garden, I saw my neighbours in theirs, and we talked over the fence, which was only a metre and a half high. It was good to have such friendly people nearby. They were interested in travel, and local environmental issues, so we had that in common. They were part of my support network in Kingston.

These days I live much closer to the countryside, but having no garden, I take advantage of the green space in front of the flats. I can go there, and I go there most days. There are also trees and bushes, and more sky and birds. I even have a westerly aspect and can watch the sunset (and bats from time to time).

As for my garden in London, with its new owners, it is still there, but changed – I saw it this weekend when I visited my old neighbours. The new arrivals have installed a jacuzzi at the end of the garden, in place of the shed that I had there (but which I did not have installed). They’ve also apparently removed the yew tree. My glass lean-to, they kept it. But all that doesn't concern me anymore.

It was moving to see my friends who were my neighbours again; leaving the city on Monday, it was perhaps difficult to remember that I no longer lived there. Was I someone who lived in Kingston and visited Gloucestershire, or the other way around? It wasn't that I would want to go back to live there – I find Kingston too crowded these days – but rather that it was hard to separate myself from a city where I lived for sixteen years (if you include the four years I spent in Birmingham in the middle of those years).

Where I lived before Kingston, in the middle of London, in West Kensington, I didn't have a garden either, but there were also green spaces and trees, and I once thought "I live in a garden.” Where I live now is very similar.

So I could also say, these days, that I live in a garden, and the garden surrounds me.