When Gardeners’ World Came Calling

I've kept this under wraps for nearly a year. But it's here. My garden on national television. Who'd have thought it?

Hello, my lovely gardeners. Something a little different this week… Apologies for hijacking my Clippings newsletter, but I don’t think this can wait…

I really can’t quite believe it happened, but around a year ago, the BBC’s Gardeners’ World team turned up at my gate: producer, sound engineer, cameras and all, to film my humble garden. Especially the roses rising in a crescendo of bloom and scent. Who could blame them? It was looking rather fabulous! Episode 10 will air this Friday, 16th May and this snippet from the BBC gives you a flavour:

“It’s Mental Health Awareness Week, and we visit a beautiful garden in Oxfordshire which became a place of healing for its creator when he needed it most.”
(You can now watch the full episode here)

It was all very last-minute. One of the producers had spotted my garden on Instagram and got in touch, keeping everything wonderfully low-key. We chatted about the garden, my gardening experience, and my rather profound mental health journey.

From the moment I got the nod, I set to work: tidying borders, sprucing the small lawn, deadheading everything, feeding and watering the roses, mowing, trimming, and rearranging pots and planters in the Courtyard.

Yes, admittedly, I was a tad vain, fussing over it all (really, I was just masking my outright panic) but I wanted everything looking its most presentable. And yet, I still managed to forget the odd trug, the garden hose, or a wheelbarrow unceremoniously tossed aside.

They arrived on a Monday afternoon just to recce—and immediately started filming. The light was gorgeous, perfect for all those B-roll close-ups. The next day they arrived around 7’ish and we dove straight into shooting. Partly to beat the heat (officially the hottest of the year at a tick over 30°C) and partly to get ahead of the volley of daytime noise.

The sun was scorching… Blistering, really. Bees and hoverflies zoomed around like tiny rocket-fuelled helicopters. The roses were just ever-so-slightly past perfect, hence the rush; after a last-second spruce, they looked glorious. Even the freshly-picked peas tasted extra-sweet that day, and the crew had me popping them take after take. We explored the garden, then they asked if they could film me, photographing the plants. Who am I to refuse?!

Honestly, the garden looked cinematic. If only my memory of the day were as flawless…

You see, one bizarre symptom of my bipolar, especially from the crushing depressive episodes that hit me twice a year, is how it’s affected my memory. It’s literally a form of brain damage (they call it pseudodementia). So profound that I’ve lost entire chunks of my life from 2012 to 2022, and my short-term recall? Forgetting names was bad before (I’d regularly blank out), but now it’s downright laughable. It is reversible, but it really catches me out when I’m under stress.

So when they asked me to repeat my line (blaming the background noise) I’d go completely blank, stumble through a dozen new versions, then blank out again. Thankfully, the team were exceptionally patient and kind, reminding me it’ll all be stitched together seamlessly. Phew!

I hadn’t realised just how commanding the sound engineer is: we paused for every passing farm vehicle (of which there are many) Thames Water digging up the nearby road (they’d graciously delayed the start for us), planes rumbling high overhead and light aircraft buzzing through, the neighbour’s mower, and another’s power drill and saw. We’d all patiently wait between takes (with the odd chuckle) as I desperately tried to remember my line, waiting for the producer’s gentle prompt.

After hours in the garden, explaining my plant choices and design (as you do), it was time for the interview: the classic shot on a photogenic bench, where they ask you to introduce yourself and your garden. The garden itself had become my sanctuary: a nurturing, safe place, a welcome distraction, something I’d created that flourished and proved to myself (and the monster in my head) that I wasn’t ‘completely worthless.’

Obviously, part of that chat focused on my struggles with mental illness. I spoke candidly about those desperate times. When my mind spiralled into hopelessness and darkness. The moments I felt suicidal, and finally, my diagnosis as bipolar.

But before I could finish, I broke down. Words caught in my throat, tears streaming in front of complete strangers. It was sweltering, all eyes on me, and that lens felt like a spotlight.

I tried to say, “The diagnosis saved my life.” I tried to say, “If only I’d been diagnosed sooner, I wouldn’t have spent the last decade cycling through suicidal episodes.” But the words never came. I think I ended on the word “bipolar,” followed by tissues, tears, and a hushed (awkward) silence.

It was excruciatingly uncomfortable. But looking back, I’m strangely grateful I did it, because I’m still here. It’s living proof that when you summon the courage to ask for help, you can face down that (insidious) demon in your head. Asking for help isn’t a sign of weakness; it’s a sign of strength. It’s saying, “I refuse to give up. I am worth saving.”

If my cracked, trembling voice and tears can show even one person there’s always a way out, no matter how convincing your mind’s worst thoughts feel, then it was worth every sweaty, painful, awkward moment.

I’m not going to lie. I’m nervous about the response when it airs on Friday. I think it’s only natural to feel exposed. Even the BBC producer warned me to steer clear of social media for a while, because you just know some pathetic keyboard troll will see vulnerability as fair game.

I’ve been told how brave I am for sharing my story. I’ve never felt brave. I’ve felt a million things other than brave. Will viewers appreciate it? Or will they mutter, “Oh dear, too much information,” or “Not another sob story,” or “Just show us the damn garden”?

Anyhoo, if you fancy it, I promise the garden is looking gorgeous, so grab a brew, or something cold and clinking (no judgment here) and join me this Friday, 16th May. I’ll be watching, tears and all, as they pan across those beautiful roses. I might duck out of the room during the interview, but it would mean the world to know you’re tuning in along with all my friends and family.

You’ll even get a cameo of me planting a hosta. And if you catch me chuckling (or blinking back a tear), know it’s partly joy, partly pollen… and partly relief that I finally remembered a plant’s name after seven takes.

(And for any of you tuning in from outside the UK, you can catch it on BBC iPlayer, it’s Episode 10 - click here)

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Thank you, as always, for reading and for being part of this little gardening journey. I feel like I am finding my voice here on Substack. I know it won’t be to everyone’s taste, but that’s fine. It’s a joy knowing you’re out there, loving my garden, cheering me on, even when I’m sweating buckets, forgetting my lines, and the roses are busy hogging the limelight.

Here’s to more blooms, more tales, and enough muddled moments to keep us all thoroughly entertained. 🌿

Your gardening chum,

Elliott