RHS Chelsea Flower Show: From Quiet Gardens to Loud Crowds, and a Stick of Rock?

Join me for two days at Chelsea 2025—strolling through serene masterpieces and bustling crowds, where calm meets chaos, dogs steal the show, and one controversial rose has everyone talking.

Well, I’ve just about shed my (mental) hangover, refuelled, rehydrated, and comfortably repotted myself on the sofa after two utterly wonderful (and mildly stressful, chaotic, charming, bewildering) days at the RHS Chelsea Flower Show.

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Press Privileges

Monday is Press Day (my first ever) and I’m genuinely thrilled to be there, lanyard proudly swinging as if I really knew what I was doing (no comment). Then back again on Wednesday (RHS Members Day) as an Exhibitor Photographer for Agriframes. Photographing, filming, and general swanning about on both days, but Wednesday has the added challenge of eager, bustling crowds, but thankfully without the perpetual fear of wandering into framed shots of celebrities and annoying the proper press.

There’s something surprisingly magical about Press Day. The gates open early (7am), and everything feels hushed, like the gardens are still waking up. No crowds. No queues. Just the soft crunch of tarmac underfoot and the occasional murmur of an interview drifting between multi-stemmed trees. It feels almost reverential. Definitely genteel. You can hear bees. Bees, at Chelsea. Accompanied by the trill of birdsong, as if the whole showground were exhaling before the day begins. That alone made the early start worthwhile.

I know this is a privilege, make no mistake.

Press Day is the exhale before the cheerful uproar, the calm, pressed-linen pause between ‘the build’ and judging, but before Chelsea bursts into full outrageous bloom with surging crowds and clinking glass. The gardens are primed. Judged. The predominantly British celebs file through, the paparazzi follow, calling names, and politely demanding they look “straight down the lens!”

I’d barely caught my breath from a brisk jog up from Sloane Square Station when I walked straight into a throng of people: a TV crew with their sound engineers, producers, and stewards in tow, and a tightly packed crowd holding smartphones aloft.

This was Monty Don’s feature garden. Not a Show Garden (it isn’t judged), but a beautiful (if rather simple) space by Chelsea standards. No deeply symbolic message buried in the construction or design. No abstract metaphor for the state of the world waiting to be decoded by high-brow horti-journalists. Just a charming, honest garden designed squarely with dogs in mind. Not merely considered, but integral. And there, bouncing about the lawn, was the star attraction himself: No, not Monty, Ned. More on this later.

An hour of inexplicable fascination followed, with barely a cursory glance at the garden itself, every eye transfixed by the novelty of dogs at Chelsea (a first), and then a procession of celebrities dragged on stage by their overenthusiastic hounds, doodles, and various *-poos.

Eventually, I drifted off, wandering through the Show Gardens like a polite trespasser (imposter syndrome fully engaged), trying not to reverse into a jobbing journalist, bump into a celebrity, or block a BBC camera. Circumnavigating the showground, I explored sparkling exhibitor stands and pristine Show Gardens, each one a masterclass in design, precision, and impossible tidiness (or beautifully curated unkemptness).

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Where I Stopped, Sighed, and Shot Far Too Much Video

These are just some of the gardens that spoke to me, the ones that stopped me in my tracks, stirred something deep, or simply made me smile. The beauty of Chelsea is that it offers inspiration on so many levels. What resonates with one visitor might pass another by entirely… and that’s the joy of it.

There’s no right or wrong. We’re not judges. We’re wanderers, each of us finding our own connection, our own quiet gasp, our own favourite corner. Personally, I favour gardens with a gentle voice, compared to those that shout for attention. But that’s just me.

I would love to talk more about Jo Thompson’s The Glasshouse Garden and the Songbird Survival garden (designed by Nicola Oakey) in the All About Plants category. Both beautifully created and I will share more on these another time.

The Japanese Tea Garden

For me, the standout garden at Chelsea this year was Cha no Niwa (The Japanese Tea Garden) by Kazuyuki Ishihara, a true living masterpiece by a master craftsman. As I approached, I quite literally staggered. The garden radiated a sense of calm and hushed reverence, drawing you in with its quiet confidence and staggering beauty.

Ishihara’s signature style was unmistakable: painterly layers of moss, sculptural rocks rising with natural ease, cascading water, and soft raked gravel (hōkime), all guided by the principles of ikebana and traditional Japanese aesthetics. And of course, the tea house and those exquisite Japanese maples, each one placed with surgical precision.

This was Ishihara’s first-ever Large Show Garden on Chelsea’s Main Avenue, and it earned him his 13th gold medal and the coveted Garden of the Year award. Inspired by deep-rooted cultural and philosophical heritage, the design doesn’t rely on hidden metaphors or conceptual storytelling. Instead, it simply offered a distilled impression of Japanese landscape and tradition: dreamlike, immersive, oddly familiar, yet impossibly serene. In a show full of talking points, Cha no Niwa spoke softly... and said everything.

While Cha no Niwa offered quiet contemplation, elsewhere the show was alive with bold ideas, big statements, and planting schemes that demanded your attention, each garden telling its own story, in its own voice.

Boodles Raindance Garden

My joint favourite, and a perfect companion in spirit to Cha no Niwa, was the Boodles Raindance Garden by Catherine MacDonald. Another space that exuded calm and quiet confidence, it felt like stepping into a tranquil dream. Inspired by the delicate patterns formed when raindrops land on water, the garden featured a series of circular pools offering dancing shimmering reflections, Brandy Crag slate paving pads with etched concentric circles, leading to a platinum-coloured Raindance pavilion.

The domed roof of the pavilion channelled rainwater down circular chains (influenced by new jewellery pieces) into a circular rill at its base, symbolising the ‘dance of rain on water’. The planting palette was predominantly a supremely restful green, with soft accents of white and pale pink. Tones that echoe the rare diamonds of the jewellery collection. The textural foliage of ferns and the gorgeous globular Ginkgo biloba provided evergreen interest, the whole scene creating a very positive impact on my cerebral cortex, reducing stress and triggering a burst of creativity, aka photography and filming.

Monty’s Dog Garden

(Technically, The RHS and BBC Radio 2 Dog Garden)

Whether intentional or not, Monty’s Dog Garden felt like a little slice of Longmeadow transported to Chelsea. A warm, familiar echo of his garden in Herefordshire. Co-designed with horticulturist Jamie Butterworth and inspired by Monty’s golden retriever, Ned, it was a heartfelt homage to the bond between gardeners and their canine companions. The garden was carefully thought through, designed to be both beautiful and dog-friendly. But what struck me most was how humble and genuine it felt. Nothing showy. Nothing forced. Just a space made with honest affection.

The borders were beautifully planted, with the dark plum spires of Lupin ‘Masterpiece’ rising through the froth, one of those plants that cropped up again and again across the show, and for good reason. At the front, a dense screen of planting kept the clamouring onlookers (myself included) at bay, giving way to a simple lawn scattered with well-chewed tennis balls.

On either side, shady woodland borders, one concealing a trickling stream and a wallow, ideal for cooling hot paws. In the centre, an open-fronted outbuilding - part shed, part summerhouse, part oversized kennel - offered a comfy sofa clearly intended for bottoms of both the human and canine variety. And the paths? They were designed by Ned himself, following his natural routes across the space, lending the whole garden a loose, organic feel.

It was authentic. Comfortable. Beautiful in its own quietly understated way. As a fellow dog-lover, I adored it. And Ned.

Down’s Syndrome Scotland Garden

One of the Small Show Gardens that truly struck a chord with me was the Down’s Syndrome Scotland Garden, designed by Duncan Hall and Nick Burton. Again, it was gentle, heartfelt, and quietly powerful. Inspired by Hall’s nephew, Liam, who has Down’s syndrome, the garden offered more than beauty… it told a story.

You entered along a winding crazy-paving path, symbolic and playful, leading through contrasting areas of planting. On one side, bright, exuberant perennials buzzed with colour and energy; on the other, a softer, more muted palette invited calm and reflection. In the centre, a shallow pool shimmered. At first glance, it looked like a barrier, but then you noticed the hidden bridge beneath the surface, inviting you to cross. A beautiful metaphor for the challenges and unseen pathways faced by those with Down’s syndrome.

The garden had a deep sense of warmth and welcome. A sculptural, larch-clad shelter called The Hug stood at its heart, rounded, soft, and reassuring, like open arms. Details were full of quiet meaning: twenty-one tiles, and a bench with twenty-one slats. A subtle nod to the genetic makeup of the condition.

It didn’t shout. It didn’t need to. The message was in the movement, the textures, the way people paused a little longer, spoke a little more gently. It was, quite simply, a garden that made you feel, no explanation required.

Avanade Intelligent Garden

Now, I must mention the Avanade Intelligent Garden, a fascinating blend of nature and technology that caught my eye. Designed by Tom Massey and Je Ahn, this garden introduced a novel concept: trees that “talk” to their gardeners.

Using discreet trunk-mounted sensors and AI, each tree could share insights about its health, soil conditions, and environmental needs through a user-friendly app. It was both intriguing and just a tad surreal to receive a message from a willow tree politely requesting a bit more water. (At the time of writing they could all do with a drink! Click here to see the live view)

The garden itself was a lush urban forest beneath a varied canopy of trees, including willow, birch, Chinese pepper and jujube. A stunning central pavilion, constructed from reclaimed ash, showcased live data displays, emphasising the potential of AI in urban tree care (not that I can see any County Council investing in it). And while the technology was undeniably impressive, it was the harmonious integration of innovation and natural beauty that truly resonated with me. Besides, don’t we all want to talk to our plants and really understand what they need from us?

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Wednesday Wanderings

In contrast to Monday’s bright and dry weather, the sunlight perfectly softened by high cloud, as if we were bathing beneath a giant diffuser. Wednesday started dark, cold, and wet. That persistent drizzle that makes you question your ‘early start’ plans long before you’ve necked that first hot brew. Thankfully, by the time I arrived at the showground, the worst had eased. Just a misty drizzle lingering in the air like a half-hearted apology, before quietly bowing out.

I headed straight for the Agriframes stand and worked my way around, photographing all their gorgeous obelisks, arches, pergolas, planters, and plant supports. Everything was still a little drippy, so I broke away and wandered the showground again, letting the morning unfold. It stayed gloomily atmospheric right through until noon, then almost theatrically, the clouds parted and the sun came bursting through. I circled back to Agriframes for the better light (hoping things had dried out too).

The Chelsea Buzz

On the way, a sharp little shower sent everyone scurrying into the Great Pavilion for cover, which only added to the sense of occasion. And once it passed, that was it. The rest of the day was gloriously sunny. Spirits lifted. Dresses wafted and swirled. The buzz returned.

By early afternoon, the champagne and Pimm’s bars were overflowing, and the straight-laced Chelsea shuffle gave way to something a little more... staggered. Sunglasses were hastily retrieved from bags and strapped across squinting faces, while ice creams were passed over sustainable hemp tote bags with a mixture of grace and mild panic.

The showground began to swell with people, purpose, and energy. Gone was Monday’s early-morning hush and tiptoed reverence. Now the air buzzed with life, chatter, queues, clinking glass, distant music from the stage, all mingled with the occasional cry of “Where’s the bloody loo?!”

It was busy. Of course it was. It’s Chelsea! It’s the kind of busy where you find yourself shuffling sideways along the paths, dodging straw hats and parasols, camera lenses, and small groups (not so) politely clustered around selfie-inducing garden art or a particularly showy delphinium. The grounding notes of earth and wet grass, mingled with clouds of perfume, slightly damp clothing, and the glorious waft of hot cheese toasties and coffee.

And yet… the magic held as it always does. Despite the crowds, people still paused. Still gasped and gossiped over lupins (Masterpiece again). Still scribbled plant names on brochures and madly tapped them into phones. It was the usual chaos, but joyful chaos. Chelsea in full swing.

Pavillion Perfection

I wandered through the Great Pavilion like a moth to a very floriferous flame, chatting with incredible growers, admiring perfect peonies, and leaving with pockets full of leaflets, daydreams of colour and form, and a mind buzzing with thoughts of pollinators after a visit to the Sainsbury Laboratory (University of Cambridge) interactive plant science exhibit. Completely fascinating.

There’s just so much to see, it’s impossible to distil it all here. But definitely worth mentioning were the new roses (btw, my new Rose Lover piece is out next weekend). Within the Great Pavilion, two new introductions drew attention. Blue Diamond’s ‘Chocolat’ was exceptional, dark, velvety, full of depth, and beautifully reminiscent of the much-loved Munstead Wood. I will be purchasing.

The other drew a massive crowd and, well… let’s just say it was divisive. Onlookers were either completely enamoured or (the majority) wore a rather confused expression. Me? I stared at David Austin’s new release wide-eyed and balking, hardly able to comprehend such a garish thing, evoking memories of sickly-sweet sticks of seaside rock (rock candy, for those across the pond).

It maybe a new and improved repeat flowerer, but to me The King’s Rose just looks like Rosa Mundi on a sugar rush. I’m a huge fan of DA roses, so I’ll take some time to gather my thoughts and save the fervent discussion for another time. I (apparently) have very strong opinions and judging by the hundreds of DMs over on Instagram, so do you.

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People Watching

Between bursts of photography, filming, and hurried note-taking, I took time to simply revel in the grand show. And if you think RHS Chelsea is all about the plants and gardens, darling you’re quite mistaken. Chelsea’s wonderful muddle of people is just as fascinating.

Stylish chaps in linen suits, crisp shirts and panamas, strolling from garden to garden with an air of botanical authority: “No, that does nothing for me, darling.” Ladies who most definitely lunch, floating past in long, floral summer dresses, their sunglasses worn like tiaras, clutching impractical handbags and flutes of champagne with equal poise. One eye on the planting, the other on the nearest bar, Pimm’s or bubbles, it hardly matters (no judgment here), as if the whole show were simply an elegant extension of Sloane Street… which, let’s be honest, it is.

Then there are the sweet older couples, just there for the latest plant intros (and to catch a glimpse of their favourite Gardeners’ World presenter) and a decent cup of tea. Though, now the sun’s out, many are happily queuing for a fabulously nostalgic 99 with a Flake, or perched on a bench unwrapping their clingfilm-wrapped sarnies.

And finally, the hardcore gardeners waving away the pomp and glamour like an irritating fly, proudly comparing callouses and aching joints, quizzing tool exhibitors and seed suppliers, eyeing up plant supports with military precision. All colliding in this eccentric, enthusiastic, gloriously green world of ours.

At one point, I overheard a gloriously British exchange between two visitors having a bit of a moan:

“It’s all the same planting schemes,” one sighed.
“Same colour palette as last year. Purple, pinks, with a smattering of orange.” “Again!” the other replied.
Nods of agreement shared. Then complaints about the crowds, the cost of food, the lack of seating. And then came the real kicker:
“Chelsea’s definitely lost its wow factor, hasn’t it?”
”Yes, no real spectacle anymore.”
A long pause. Then:
“Will you come back next year?”
“Oh yes. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Honestly, I nearly spat out my coffee. There it was. Peak Chelsea! Equal parts complaint and devotion. We grumble, but we love it. It’s like gardening itself, really… full of frustrations, and yet somehow, completely irresistible.

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By the end of my time at Chelsea, the bank account had been thoroughly plundered, my feet were audibly screaming after two heavily laden 13km tramps around the showground, and my back was groanin, loudly! All the while reminding me it hasn’t carried a camera bag all day for years. My phone was smoking hot from battling a jammed network and churning through hours of video, and my memory cards were practically bursting with floral excess.

My neck? The reddish side of brown. My arms? Shaking slightly from clinging to the camera like it was the crown jewels. And my brain? Whirring like a compost tumbler on full spin! Because that’s the point of Chelsea, isn’t it? You go to be inspired. You go to dream. You come back absolutely spent… but creatively recharged.

There’ll be more to come, but I’ll keep it brief, some of it confined to Notes. Expect more photos, planty highlights, and my muddied thoughts on the trends, planting schemes, reactions, and general Chelsea-ness of it all. But for now, I’m off to soak my feet, edit a thousand images, and possibly buy another water feature I absolutely do not need (but that A Place in the Garden fountain is gorgeous). Inspiration strikes hard at Chelsea. Turning it into reality… well, that’s next week’s problem.

For now, I just want to say: if you’ve ever dreamed of going… go.

Yes, there are big questions for RHS Chelsea, but it is still the greatest garden show on the planet.

And if crowds aren’t your thing? Pinch the ideas. Steal with both hands.
Chelsea’s real magic is in the inspiration. A gentle reminder that beauty, even on this grandest of stages, begins with one person planting something, somewhere.

With dusty boots and a full heart,

Elliott 🌿
(Your exhausted gardening chum)

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🌸 Enjoyed this wander through Chelsea? Let me know what caught your eye—or made you wince! Leave a comment, give it a restack, or forward it to a fellow plant nut.
And if you’re not yet subscribed to The Gardening Kind, now’s the perfect time. New posts (mostly) every Wednesday and Saturday. Compost optional, enthusiasm required.