Whether clear skies or overcast, summer holidays or winter ones, the British palm has a talent for souring illusions. They do exactly the opposite of what you expect. They don’t transport you to the Bahamas; they just remind you of where you aren’t instead. This sardonic disposition is an inherently British one. It can be found in the air and in the soil, has turned these once innocent trees into culprits. Their duplicitous joke is had at your expense. They contribute to the pervading gloom, exaggerate it even, provide the British landscape and its people with yet another dismal adjective. It’s not wind that rustles their blades; it’s laughter.
by Piers Inkpen, Gallery Assistant