Project Updates


We would like to thank all those who have supported our blog over the last year or so.

So much so, in fact, that we are ceasing to post!

But only for about a week.

After which, thanks to Clive, Monsieur le webconcepteur, we will transform from a caterpillar into a sparkling butterfly.
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With work on our design for the hospice garden in Weston super Mare now in full spate, sensory plants are very much on our minds.

Since, at the request of many of the staff there, they are a key element in the new garden.

Of course the planting plans were completed months ago.

But the thing lives in your consciousness.

So it was that when I was gardening beneath the trachycarpus the other day I was especially aware of its sensory nature.

And it does the lot!

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Of course every garden is, in some way, a sensory garden.

But the spiritual healing payback from sensory plants makes them particularly relevant in hospice care.

So a sensory garden features strongly in our designs for Weston Hospice in Weston super Mare.

Yes we know it doesn’t look very healing yet!

But, big projects take time to implement.

Particularly in the planning, finance and tender stages.

However….the good news is….

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Restoration and renovation in Bath, UK aka ‘Jane Austen land.’

We are mostly asked to design or redesign gardens, in a way which usually changes the hard landscape features quite dramatically.

In this case, we were quite clear from the start that this would not be the case, although the resulting changes were in another sense structural.

The clients quite definitely knew their minds.

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I am forever teasing Lesley about her Bay Tree.

It is always immaculate!

Never a hair out of place.

Like a busby on parade.

And then, low and behold, when I visited early last week it actually looked quite unkempt. The top in particular was quite ragged:

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Water features need not be complex.

In fact they should not be!

A hole in  the ground, a liner, some hard landscaping.

A hose to fill and some planting.

And it could look like this:

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‘Is there honey still for tea?’ asked Rupert Brooke nostalgically from Berlin in his Grantchester poem of 1912.

And one assumes this is the kind of village which very shortly, in The First World War, the poor guys in the trenches imagined that they were ‘fighting for.’

But the other day it seemed completely unreal. 

The streets were deserted:

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