Monty Don introduces us to his garden, which he's lovingly created from scratch over the past 20 years, and from where hell be bringing the new series of Gardeners' World I t was a particularly dank autumnal day in 1991 when I first saw my garden. Infact there was no garden at all, although evidence of what had once been a lawnin front of the house peeked in tufts through the piles of building rubble. Outside the back door was a little yard filled with knee-high weeds happily seeding themselves, and beyond that was a paddock where a heroically bad-tempered Shetland pony munched the brambles. The only trees were an ancient hazel and a stunted hawthorn.
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