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The destination this time was Ness Botanic Gardens — and in a rare turn of events, the sun was still cooperating. Two bright days in a row? Suspicious. I half expected someone from the Met Office to tap me on the shoulder and say there’d been a clerical error.

Set on the Wirral and owned by the University of Liverpool since it was gifted to them in 1948, Ness isn’t just a pleasant place for a wander — it’s still actively used for horticultural research and even hosts RHS classes. So while I was there casually “plant spotting,” others were probably doing something far more scientific than pointing a camera at colourful things and hoping for the best.

It would be fair to say the rain had passed through earlier in the week. The ground still held that slightly saturated look, leaves looked freshly rinsed, and everything had that post-rain clarity — minus the actual inconvenience of being rained on. Ideal.

Now, full disclosure: I am not much of a gardener. I admire plants. I photograph plants. I could not confidently identify most plants without assistance from the internet. This particular shot is of a rhododendron — a name I had to double-check, though I suspect most people with even a passing interest in gardening would not. Still, wandering through the gardens and seeing what’s in bloom at this time of year is half the fun.

The snowdrops were just about clinging on, though they had that slightly exhausted, end-of-season look. We’d been to Rode Hall the previous Sunday for their Snowdrop Walk, and even there they were declaring the display nearly over. Snowdrops, it seems, are punctual. When they’re done, they’re done.

There was also a particularly vibrant purple anemone that caught my eye — beautiful in person, but slightly uninspiring in a photograph. Sometimes a subject is lovely but doesn’t translate well to a frame. The rhododendron, however, had stronger structure and depth, which made for a more compelling image.

From a photography perspective, the light was direct and unapologetically bright. Conventional wisdom says harsh midday sun is problematic — too much contrast, blown highlights, deep shadows. Personally? I’ll take it over flat, grey overcast any day. At least strong sunlight gives you something to work with. Contrast creates shape. Shadows create drama. Overcast light can flatten everything into polite mediocrity.

Shooting in direct sun does mean you have to think more carefully. Angles matter. Backgrounds matter. And, of course, there’s always the risk of accidentally including your own shadow in the frame — nothing says “professional nature photography” quite like a faint outline of the photographer hovering over a flower.

Still, when the sun is out in the UK, you don’t argue. You adapt. You embrace the contrast. And you wander around botanical gardens pretending you know the difference between a rhododendron and… well, anything else.

With any luck, the sun will continue this unusual streak of good behaviour — and if it does, there may well be more garden photos on the way.