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(From The Northern Echo)
Byline: sharon griffiths
The kiss of the sun for pardon, The song of the birds for mirth, One is nearer God's heart in a garden Than anywhere else on earth, - especially when you've got a large glass of wine in your hand. . .
For the last 20 years, it seems, we have filled our homes with plants, from modest African violets to giant rubber plants. We, for instance, once had an avocado that threatened to take over the dining room and triffid-like attacked unwary visitors. Even offices aren't safe - whether it's a secretary's spider plant in a yoghurt pot or a fully fledged indoor garden in an atrium. Posh.
Then there was the craze for conservatories and an opportunity for even more greenery, so that gradually that room that was meant to bring more space and light into the house collected so many plants that it began to resemble a tropical rain forest and no one would have been surprised to find a multi-coloured parrot fluttering in from the undergrowth joining you for coffee.
So once we'd filled the house with plants there was only one thing left to do. . .
Move out into the garden.