I had a lovely bank holiday, catching up with things in my own garden and sorting out new ways of growing veg to avoid sharing it all with my chickens, pigeons, rabbits, mice and other ‘critters’ that seem to think I have planted out an ‘all you can eat buffet’ just for them. I have to admit, although I absolutely loved doing it all, by the time I totted up all the time, energy and money spent, I’m sure it would be cheaper to buy my veggies at Waitrose through the summer. But of course ‘that’s not the point’.

I really enjoyed watching Chelsea Flower Show on the telly this year. I recall a friend saying, “I get impressed by a lot less as I get older” and I think that applied to this year’s flagship RHS show. Whilst I absolutely adored Sarah Erbele’s garden, with the chainsaw-carved Mother Earth section of Redwood and the dry stone wall created by ‘my mates from Yorkshire’, the rest of the gardens at the show all felt very ‘samey’. Every year the gardens on Main Avenue seem to consist of a large area of paving and gravel, an obligatory path leading to a weird structure, mixed planting and of course a bl**dy rill. I hate rills. They must be one of the most impractical addition to any garden and would get clogged up before you could even say ‘another bl**dy rill.’

In my latter years, I’m much happier – and impressed - with my own and my client’s gardens; they are much-loved, beautiful - and most importantly for a garden, practical. Although they are not without their stressors. We had a tense morning in work last week as a mother Swallow considered it was time for her youngsters to leave the nest. The normally-serene courtyard was turned into a chaotic feathered crèche as the little youngsters literally found their feet for the first time. The mix of joy, awe, and respect that I initially felt whilst watching them, was soon flooded out by trepidation, worry and fear for these little vulnerable, clueless and incredibly fast-moving fledglings. They fearlessly ran up to us – and my brother’s Labrador, who was just mesmerised by them – as they encountered the great outdoors for the first time.

We left them and their frantic mother to it, whilst keeping a bit of an eye on the from a far and sure enough by the end of the day she had cwtched them all up safely in a thicket of geranium leaves, and to rest in preparation for the next day’s schooling.

When ready, fledglings will jump – not fall – out of the nest, which in itself is a miracle when you think of the height they ‘free-fall’. They then often have to navigate a number of obstacles on the ground to get out of a barn or shed and will have to spend a bit of time on the ground strengthening their fight muscles and allowing flight feathers to fully develop. Parent birds work hard to raise their young and get them out of the nest as quickly as possible. Once on the ground, they’ll move them around to a different spot every night to maximise their safety and will keep feeding them whilst on the ground. It is a chaotic time – for both the birds and any onlookers - but resist the temptation to get involved. They know what to do and a fledgling knows how to call for mum or dad if needs be. If you are worried about a fledgling, have a look on www.songbird-survival.org.uk under ‘seasonal advice’.