It is spring, it is Sunday and our expectations run high because the Beeb’s Spotlight news coverage has described the annual Spring Flower Show at Boconnoc as Cornwall’s answer to Chelsea. Having never been to either but having mental images of voluptuous blossoms in overwhelming quantities, we expect a floral extravaganza. So we set out from Devon equipped with high spirits, a packet of Polos and a road map. We needed all three. We head west down the A38 to the A390, sun and flat-bottomed clouds dappling the dappled cows in dappled fields. We miss what we thought was the turning and U-turned on the outskirts of Loswithiel, contemplate whether Tourist Information is manned in that town, but press on, both somehow regarding stopping for help as a form of cop out since the power of our four wheels, engine and our joint education are our credentials for finding anything.

We hurtle down long, leafy lanes of fairy tale dimensions, our competency beginning to falter. We head most definitely in the right direction, but not a sign suggests a Spring Flower Show or the whereabouts of its illusive host with an unpronounceable name. We head towards Lerryn to quite literally chance upon a barely visible notice, tacked to a fence post next to a left-turn. It simply says “Access to Boconnoc via Middle Taphouse”. We do not understand this one-liner. What does it mean? How churlish to leave no further clue to our destination, but we are in good company as a smart, open-topped sports arrangement pulls up and its equally smart driver asks us if we are headed for the Show and we are suddenly all smiles and authority again.

We meet the A390 after one more U-wee and turn off again toward the south Cornish coast in the vaguest direction of Braddock. We drive into a farm yard or two and only there have it confirmed by another human that we were headed in the right direction at last. Finally, finally we drive through the proud gateway of the vast Boconnoc Estate. What a vista. We looked down upon a sea of cars, tent tops and a good chunk of the local population milling about in front of the fine proportions of this pale-grey stately manor.

The show itself is lively all right, but hardly equivalent to Chelsea. Aside from a fabulous tent showing umpteen dozen varieties of daffs and narcissi, the hoped-for “virtual” gardens are practically non-existent. There are some gorgeous displays put together by just about every green-fingered rep from every garden society or local nursery in Cornwall. Information is everywhere and everywhere is information. We gather leaflets like flowers. We scan a marquee to view the floral arrangements and competition winners. They’ve certainly stretched their creative minds around this year’s “Golden Entwinement” theme bringing a rush of twine, basket, rope and trellis to support the odd gold blossom. We pour over the labels and comments and judge the judge has favoured the minimalist’s approach to design, structure and colour. It’s OK, it seems, to be poised with guarded symmetry as these arrangements seem to win hands down over the delicious, glamorous and colourful chocolate box offerings of contenders.