Playing The Tubers

With a bit of help from her dad, Eve Jones has transformed her roof garden into a little patch of Oxfordshire. But how can she explain the absence of the begonias?

I’M worried about my begonias. Historically, they’ve been my greatest asset so I’m obsessive about their upkeep. However, I’m afraid, this year, they’re going south. Last winter, I dug up my bulbs, dried and wrapped them in tissue paper, bedded them in a Fortnum’s wicker basket and then, in April, replanted them so, come summer, they were glorious. This year, carelessly, I left them out (to be fair, they’re easily forgotten given that the one window that looks out to my roof garden is above the loo and it’s only men in the flat having a wee that see out there in winter). I’m not sure whether begonia care is something a 30-something should or shouldn’t be worrying about. It may be considered premature aging but, nonetheless, their potential demise is of very real concern.

I suppose I always thought of gardening as an old lady’s thing – a Laura Ashley gardening gloved, grey top-knotted, rose-tending granny business – until my dad (who does not have a grey top-knot) turned my roof into a secret city oasis. Suddenly, I found myself listening to Gardeners’ Question Time on Radio 4 while insisting to myself I was a young, urban garden hipster. The reality lies somewhere in between, being born from green genes and a simple, physical need to have some privacy outside because despite a surprising 47% of London being green space, the problem is there’s always some other bugger in it.