But I got Lucky. I got to hang out with Freddy Mercury, who, it seems, is also clearing out his garage. The exhibition had old album covers, tour baggage slathered with stickers. The drawcard was the till-now unseen photos taken by his roadie, of Freddie and the rest of Queen scrambling though life with polystyrene cups and disorder their constant companion.
I saw for the first time that Queen were never able to guarantee that what they did would succeed. But mostly it did, and Freddy and the gang just kept going, kept writing, creating, pouring it all out for us.
Choosing such a plant for an organic garden would be setting myself up for heartbreak, kind of like being one of Freddie's infinite garden of lovers.
Not just that, it but would be jarring visually. Despite themselves, people have an old instinct for what doesn't belong, you can't fudge harmony. No matter how beautiful, visual associations are even more difficult to erase, and there is something very 1950s about these plants, evocative of nursing homes.
But I've discovered begonias have an impressive vastness of range, from chihuahua to great dane. Some live their lives as hardy, drought-tolerant roadside plantings, then others stay indoors with Queen Elizabeth-type owners, coddled and protected, then astonishing us with massive plastic-like blossoms.