I don’t think you can get a better, more gutsy superstar of a plant than a magnolia. There are those big, voluptuous waxy petals. And those enormous, bejewelled stamens. And the big, glamorous leaves.
Every spring, front gardens all over the country forget they are boring places to park the car and leave the bins out, and host huge parties of those big pinky-white wine goblet flowers. Walking to the station, I can’t help but stop and stare at each one of them, sometimes missing my train. Ahh…