After years of yearning, our columnist finally makes it into the heart of the Chelsea Flower Show... on VIPday no less

ITfS BEEN a standing joke at BBC Radio Cleveland that the gardening presenter has never made that pilgrimage to the Chelsea Flower Show. Every year I receive the big glossy promotional invitations from the garden designers or their financial backers, but every year I end up watching the (always excellent) coverage on the television, as I donft seem to have a lucky hand in the press pass lottery.

What a surprise it was then last Friday to receive the magic pink entry ticket through the post. What an even bigger shock when I read that the ticket was for the following Monday, which is Press and VIP-day.

Elation quickly turned into panic.

Surely, there was no way I would be able to get a place on any of the early morning trains to London in such a short space of time. Fortunately, one phone call to my editor sorted it all out. The hero had me all sorted within hours. I would leave on the 7am train from Darlington and return on the 5pm from Kings Cross. It was all I could talk about for the whole weekend and I think I used up all my monthly text allowance telling everyone about it.

I love train journeys. They offer me the luxury of a few hours of uninterrupted newspaper and magazine reading time.

Such bliss. But the cocoon of tranquillity was rudely burst as I dismounted at the station and joined the hurried buzz of city life. I was astounded to have to pay 20p to go through the turnstiles into the Underground toilets. After all, itfs a necessary bodily function. Us country egalsf are used to making do with a bush or tree, but I reckoned I would be flirting with being arrested if I did so, so I obligingly popped my pennies into the machine front.

The taxi driver deposited me outside the Garden Gate. I wanted to go in through the proper entrance, this being my first time and all. I approached with hesitation. Was the Press pass all I needed?

Maybe I had to buy a full entrance ticket too? Had I pinned the badge on in a prominent enough space? Did I look suspicious enough to be pulled in for a bag and body search? My neurotic thoughts were bombarding my brain, but no, I sailed through he gates with a smile and a nod. It was easy. I was in. I was at the Chelsea flower show.

I made my way down past the beautiful building and gardens that house the Chelsea pensioners. Two of them proudly, but gently, marched past me. I smiled and they tipped their caps in return. I felt humbled.

I hit the show grounds. The arrows pointed to the retail areas and the show gardens. There was no choice to be made. I strode out underneath the London planes and made straight for the gardens.

First impressions were incredible.

Each sectioned-off area was filled with perfect lines, immaculate petals and incredible imagination. There was so much beauty to take in from traditional deep, county borders, filled with a combination of billowing English cottage garden flowers to stark, reserved and stone bound spaces. Mirrors, glass and water bounced the light and drizzle around in rainbow splashes of refracted colour.

I had just managed to draw breath when I started noticing that the crowd was not an ordinary crowd. Everyone there was either wearing the big green bibs of the BBC film crews, brandishing interview machines, or were smartly dressed celebrities from the entertainment, business or news world.

Christopher Biggins and Lesley Joseph were chatting to the dishy centurion in the Roman Garden. Nigel Havers was admiring the grassy waves of Laurent Perrier planting. Kim Wilde, Diarmuid Gavin, Rachel De Thame and Chris Beardshaw were all doing pieces to camera in different sections of the show. The ageless Floella Benjamin was a bright and shiny star, joining in the fun of the Caribbean steel drums in the floral marquee, while Esther Ranzen petted the hearing dog for the deaf amidst the fragrant arches of Peter Bealefs roses.

I shared the mouth-watering summer scents that wafted down from Ken Muirfs tumbling tubs of strawberries with Italian chef Carluccio. I followed Tom Hart Dyke as he strode through the stands, no doubt looking for inspiration to add to his World Garden.

There were news readers promoting honey, Coronation Street stars endorsing lavender and television scientists supporting plant research.

It was time for a break, so I made my way out of the gardens, passing Gloria Hunniford, Alan Titchmarch and Piers Morgan on the way. I sat down with my lunch and tucked into my wild venison and woodland mushroom egourmetf sausage sandwich, just two tables down from Rolf Harris. Linda Bellingham was on the other side of me.

There was just enough time to squeeze in another tour of all the gardens before we were all ushered out of the grounds for the arrival of the Queen. As I hailed a cab at the exit, Patsy Palmer pulled away in hers, and Christine (as in Christinefs Garden) bustled past me, striding purposefully down the embankment road in her hooded rain coat.

I nodded off on the train back home.

My dreams were filled with incredible horticultural canvases, intoxicating scents and surreal crowds. Tomorrow I would be back in the routines of my world, but for just one day, I had had the privilege of being part of something really special.

Jobs

Watch all the Chelsea re-runs and try to pick up as many practical planting ideas as possible.

Keep on top of the grass mowing.

Miss one week in this warm and wet period and you risk facing a jungle the next time you get out the mower.

Begin nipping out the extra trusses from tomato plants. This promotes fewer, but better quality fruit on the plant.

* Brigid presents Ask about Gardening every Sunday on BBC Radio Cleveland 95FM from 1-2pm. Questions will be answered on the day by e-mailing brigidpress@bbc.co.uk anytime during the week, and texting 07786-200- 995 or phoning 01642-225-511 during the show