I find it easy to ignore the garden when it's raining. Truth be told, I might even breathe a sigh of relief. No dragging of hoses or getting my feet wet, too damp to weed or mow, might as well pour a cup of tea and pick up a good book. But then I looked out the window, and saw that the first flush of my David Austin roses were head down, their tea-cup like blooms filled with rain. I had to go out and enjoy them, if for no other reason than I can't stand to see beauty wasted.

What is it about white flowers that have so captured me? I can't say I've ever thought about them much before, preferring my usual run of yellows, peaches and pinks. But then there was the year I went on a wild rant against the feverfew that had taken over my garden. Feverfew, in case you don't know, has propagation qualities that would put bunnies to shame. Well, my garden that summer was a disappointment. The roses and lilacs, anemones and black eyed Susan’s all bloomed as