Fuchsia

Fuchsias are so familiar that people stop seeing them, which is a shame because looked at properly — really properly — they're extraordinary. Those dangling, two-toned flowers are like tiny, elaborate lanterns. Scarlet sepals flare back to reveal a full skirt of deep violet-purple petals, with long stamens and a pistil hanging below like a pendulum. The engineering of it is mad. Nature showing off.

'Mrs Popple' is the hardy one — the fuchsia that survives British winters and comes back year after year, getting bigger and more floriferous with each season. Mine is about four feet tall now, an established shrub that produces hundreds of flowers from July right through to the first hard frost. Sometimes beyond. I've picked fuchsia flowers in November, which feels like getting away with something.

They're a gift for shady spots that need colour. North-facing borders, under trees, that awkward side passage — 'Mrs Popple' will flower there when most plants would sulk. The combination of scarlet and violet isn't subtle, but it's joyful. Absolutely, unapologetically joyful. In a world of muted, tasteful planting schemes, sometimes you need a plant that's simply having a good time.

I associate fuchsias with my grandmother's garden — she had them everywhere, in pots by the back door, along the path, in hanging baskets. 'Mrs Popple' is the one that connects me back to that. Hardy, generous, and making the garden feel alive right up until winter puts a stop to things.