Visiting open gardens is almost always a pleasant event, especially if the host serves Elderflower cordial, even the drifting hordes of lilac scented ladies do little to dispel the pleasure, though the stout dames in denim maxis, sensible shoes and overly snug shirts pulled unnervingly tight across their ample bosoms often send me scuttling off. But I was wandering around our garden yesterday and thought I too readily accept what I believe to be the truth, this is that others tend their garden to perfection and so set the pace by which we should march. I had been ‘twittering’ earlier in the day and discovered that Yoko Ono was now a follower of my tweets [don't get excited she follows everyone that follows her], on her profile she had written ‘I think it’s better to dance than to march through life.’, could it be that in gardening there are marchers and dancers?. The marchers being the Open Garden set, and the dancers, people like me, for whom gardening is a private activity, it is a process of self discovery, making amends and healing, a reciprocal relationship with the beautiful and unendingly fantastic delight that is the small, hard seed that sprouts into life and silently aches in its desire to live, to grow and to set seed, to make its mark.