I have an ‘Albertine ‘ rose which grows to the left of the garden doors. For about 48 weeks of the year it is an unwieldy thug, rampant and thorny, insinuating itself into other shrubs and trying to get into the house. It always redeems itself in June though, being smothered in blancmange pink blooms with a delicate scent. This year it’s been particularly lovely, and I’ve so enjoyed the fact it has tumbled round the window so I can see it from inside the house. I was so sad then, on drawing the curtains back one morning last week to find the previous nights storm had ripped the best part of it off the wall and it was lying in a soggy heap of slimy petals on the grass. Cut back and retied it will live to bloom another day, but it no longer frames my view into the garden. My only consolation was a vase of roses straight from a page of ‘Country Living’ which graced the dining table for a few days.

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