My happiest early memories are of nature, from the heathlands of Dorset’s Poole Basin and Shropshire’s Long Mynd to the waterfalls of Powys and the old quarries of the Mendips, long overgrown with insistent trees. A walk through a snowy forest was an endless joy, but so was my grandmother’s garden in the spring, when the peachy-pink roses began to bloom, and blossom covered the apple tree.

It was a dream of mine to have a garden of my own, and when I moved to Oxford, an opportunity presented itself. Living in the top floor flat of a large Victorian house, I looked down at the garden each day and wondered how it would be if someone cut back the brambles and bindweed and planted flowers instead. When the lockdowns of 2020 became the new normal, I decided that I would be that someone. That summer, the work began.

There’s still much more to do and to learn, but there’s nothing more exciting than fulfilling a dream and watching something beautiful take shape through sheer persistence and effort.