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Gardening correspondent, Sandy Loam, writes:

I'm never at a loss for company in the garden.  He always finds me.

Robin.

That's what I call him.  I can't be completely sure, but I think it's the same bird.

Gertrude Jekyll mentions the robin at Munstead Wood who always searches her out.  I can picture him perching on the handle of the great lady's fork - or perhaps it was on the handle of her willow trug, since I can't believe that the stout and Queen Victoria-like G.J. did a great deal of manual labouring.

So, her robin and my robin are - in a sense - one and the same robin.  The archetypal, definitive robin, the paragon of robins.  Never mind that we're gardening at four hundred miles distance, and several human generations (and very many avian ones) apart.

January 24th.   I feel, in my Presbyterian way, that I ought to be out there doing more things in my garden than I am doing.  The gardening shows on TV are urging me to keep busy-busy - and, if I'm rained off, at least to get into the shed (one is presumed to have a shed) and to sharpen my shears, etc.

Take my advice: the garden needs to rest, leave it well alone, enjoy a well-deserved rest yourself.  Or read the catalogues and magazines; plan ahead. To repeat: let a sleeping garden lie.

Anyway, that gives me time to reflect: perhaps after twenty-plus years of experimenting with plants and flowers, I've finally come to appreciate what it is appeals to me most.

A monochrome garden.

People will say 'There's no colour in winter.'  Wrong!  Green is a colour, and there are dozens of shades. 

Green is classy, toney, sophisticated.  Green is restful,  relaxing.  Green is ageless, ie of all ages.

Green is all you need - well, with a bit of gold (very yellow green) thrown in for variety.  See how you fare at topiary - it's easier than you might think, but just do it well in advance of the first frosts.

Put different hues of green against each other.  Combine and contrast.  Create a depth of field.

Box, yew, conifers, euonymus.  Thuja, viburnum, osmanthus.  (The bay laurel goes under cover - hates those cold winds and standing shivering.  Protect tree ferns with bubble-wrap or fleece or newspaper or anything.)

Old dependables.  They're not just for the fair weather interludes.  Like good friends, they show their true mettle in the darkest days.