One of my all-time favourite gardening programmes is the Victorian Kitchen Garden, which warms my cockles every time I watch it. I have no idea what my cockles are, but the late Harry and Peter Thoday always get to them.
Now, I don’t want to garden like Harry because I don’t have access to a walled garden, but I love the idea of one. A long time ago when I was working in North Yorkshire, I stayed at a stately home and while there I was offered the chance of a walled garden of my own. I found it during an evening walk that meandered past gravestones of long-departed dogs – that’s what the owner said, and I didn’t want to dig deeperboiler house and beyond was an overgrown, rambling affair full of brambles, foxes and hens. The owner took pity on me when I came back, muddy, scratched, and with a wild look in my eye.