'Sometimes I sits and thinks and sometimes I just sits,’ explained Winnie-the-Pooh. How I envy his capacity to do nothing, especially in the garden. Well, sometimes anyway. My garden and meadow are replete with seats and benches, strategically positioned to offer respite to the weary traveller and to act as handsome focal points at the end of views and vistas. In that respect, they fulfil their brief admirably. The fault lies with me, not them, when it comes to using them for the practical purpose for which they were intended.
There is a standing joke in our family, or, rather, a repeated line: ‘Oh… you managed 15 seconds that time,’ as I leap from my momentary rest in some shady arbour or sunlit grove to snip a wayward shoot or uproot a cheeky weed. We have a line that is regularly used in our household — a nod to Morecambe and Wise’s invitation to the newsreader Richard Baker: ‘Sit down. Take the weight off your bulletins.’ It still makes us smile.
I freely admit that I am a born potterer. I will occasionally ‘take the weight off my bulletins’ for as long as half a cup of tea or coffee lasts, morning or afternoon, and, in the evening, I can happily quaff a glass or two or even take a meal in the garden — at that time of day, I have no trouble relaxing. It is during the daylight hours that I struggle.
Then, of course, there is the choice of seat. Being a designer of gardens, appearance is of prime concern. The seat or chair or bench needs to be of the correct material, style, scale, size and proportion to suit its space. My wife has another criterion, which is of paramount importance: it must be comfortable. Oh, I can drool over some gloriously elegant construction with fine lines and balanced proportions — ‘But is it comfortable?’ she will ask. I know at that moment she is right. The seat in question needs to be reposed upon before a final commitment is made. We have both parked our bottoms on some excruciatingly torturous chairs and benches over the years—the sort that send you rushing for the Radox on your return home.
I have long since realised that elegance is, indeed, only half the requirement and that those pretty little French slatted chairs that sit around a wobbly slatted table redolent of a French Impressionist’s idea of Le déjeuner sur l’herbe are a recipe for spinal injury.
Equally problematic are the comfortable, but excessively heavy curved teak jobs that I invested in a couple of years ago. Made from sustainably sourced timber, I can shift them, but my wife is powerless to move their weighty bulk more than a few inches at a time. As a result, they tend to stay put at a distance from the garden table where they allow easy access to the average thigh, but are close enough to facilitate the partaking of lunch or supper.
I can always find room for a Lutyens-style bench or chair — the ones with the curlicue backs. They are supremely elegant, comfortable when equipped with cushions, but, oh, I am so weary of seeing them absolutely everywhere. We need to move on, I tell my wife — and myself.
Soft furnishings can, indeed, ameliorate the hardness and the sharpness of corners and there are occasions when a handful of goose-down cushions and lambswool throws can turn a seating ordeal into a pleasurable experience both visual and tactile.
I do have a couple of ancient teak steamer chairs that have brass labels on them, embossed with the legend Queen Elizabeth. I do not pretend to myself that they are originals, but the pattern is identical to those that furnished the decks of the ocean liner. They do have one distinct advantage: the difficulty of getting in and out of them — negotiating the adjustable arms and the sticking-out footrest — means that, once ensconced and well padded with two or three cushions, I am happy to remain there for more than a few minutes. The effort of extracting myself from their clutches after a hearty lunch means that it makes more sense to doze off for a while.
Perhaps, after all, I have cracked it: I need to make sure my garden seats induce instant relaxation. That way, the wayward shoot will remain unsnipped and the cheeky weed poking its tongue out at me can be ignored.
This feature originally appeared in the August 20, 2025, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe
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