The weeding never stops and the dead-heading of roses has begun in earnest. Hori-hori, hoe, mattock, and a pair of secateurs are your trusted tools. Yet, while hidden away within the border it’s also a time to stop and take stock of the decisions you have made, the things that you wished you had done, the things you are glad you didn’t do.

The clump-forming bamboo Fargesia robusta ‘Campbell’ is thriving in its second year in the ground, throwing up new shoots that grow at an astonishing rate. Like a young nephew who you see after a few years and they’ve suddenly grown as tall as you.

The Berberis Thunbergii atropurpurea hedge that I planted a year ago and which struggled through its first summer has found its feet and is in full-leaf.

The two Stipa Gigantea planted in subsequent years are throwing up a great number of culms, the flower heads nodding in the late evening sun like chatting guests at a party.

Then there are the disappointments. Some yew topiary purchased at not inconsiderable cost appears to be failing, a swathe of dead, brown leaves relentlessly encircling it like a marauding invader. I watch it each day, hoping it will fight back or at least hang in there until Autumn. Yew can live for millennia but it seems to find the first year tough.

A mature camellia was a victim of the work we recently had done and narrowly avoided the skip when we decided to move it from the front of the house to the garden. Moving a mature plant is always asking for trouble and moving it at the wrong time – when its buds are about to burst with flower – is even worse. It has used every ounce of energy to get to that point only to have the power plug pulled from the socket.

But even in the depths of failure the garden can offer glimpses of hope. The camellia looks completely destroyed and yet, and yet…new buds now push through the dead. A plant just needs to survive and from that precarious foothold it can begin its journey anew.