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Do you have a reset button? A simple thing that helps you to feel focused, well, yourself, basically? At this time of year my Sunday morning visits to Columbia Road flower market begin to increase in frequency as new plants are bought for the mews where I live. Over the years, the space taken up by foliage has gently expanded as more houses have decided to colonise a patch of what is a public thoroughfare with their pots and plants. There’s no way through the mews for cars, just a gap at the end for bicycles and pedestrians, so the worst that happens to this display is that, every now and then, some delivery driver takes out a terracotta-housed hydrangea with a hasty turn of their wheel. Nobody is trying to go too grand with their efforts, so debris is simply cleared and plants rehoused. But gardening, even at this limited scale, has become a reliable reset button.
It’s also good to have a pleasurable distraction that your partner has no interest in. I have, on occasion, forced the other half to come with me to the market but only if I know that I won’t be able to lug everything back to the car solo. On these occasions he’s essentially the getaway driver. But back home I know that there’s no risk of him wanting any involvement in repotting an oleander – and, in truth, I’d be a little annoyed if he did suddenly appear with secateurs primed. You need your own domains. (This is also the man whose knowledge of British ornithology has only just expanded beyond the realisation that not all birds are pigeons or seagulls). Last Sunday, needing that reset button to be pressed with alacrity, I hastened to the market while even the dog had barely stirred.
Columbia Road is a strip of Victorian shops and pubs that hosts plant and flower stalls every Sunday. Meanwhile, many of the boutiques and coffee shops here do almost all their trade in the arc of just a few hours. It can be elbows out come summer. And there are routines to be observed – coffee from Pavilion or Hermanos Colombian Coffee Roasters and, last Sunday, definitely a hot-cross bun. Then you can walk past every stall, seeing who has what to offer; it’s bargain-land if you choose wisely. There’s the banter of the stallholders as they shout out their offers, often with their youngsters in tow learning the trade. There are plantsmen and women who hand out advice – and a few who have time to chat. Then purchases to be made; one of the only times when cash is king.
Back home in the mews, hours were lost as new arrivals found their spots and those that had succumbed to winter’s ways were removed. At the end, I stood back, feeling a little chuffed, reset. Then, as I caught my reflection in the window, I realised for the first time how I now look just like my late dad. That man who, when I was a child, I’d spy every Sunday tending the garden, no matter how inclement the weather. The man who showed a five-year-old how to plant sunflower seeds, an eight-year-old how to grow strawberries. My muddy hands now as old as his, the fingernails needing to be scrubbed under the kitchen tap. A passion passed on. Circles closing.
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Some house news. The Monocle charabanc is going to be pootling down to Italy in the coming days as the team wends its way to Salone del Mobile in Milan via Paris and Berlin. Perhaps you would like to join us? On Tuesday 9 April we’ll be in Paris at 3 Rue Dupin and in Berlin on Wednesday at Kurfürstendamm 170. On the mornings of Monday 15, Tuesday 16 and Wednesday 17 April, we’ll be in Milan, hosting three start-of-day panels, where design experts will be quizzed by some combination of our design editor, Nic Monisse, Tyler Brûlé and yours truly. It’s all taking place at the Sala di lettura in the Pinacoteca di Brera. I am assured that fine coffee and freshly baked cornetto will be served; well, the talks are all in partnership with Swiss household appliances brand V-Zug. To secure a seat, all you need to do is drop a note to the mistress of all Monocle events, Hannah Grundy, at hg@monocle.com and indicate which morning you would like to attend. Don’t worry about the pastries; there’ll be plenty to go round.