We heard a small crash in the night one day this week. Groaning we got up and searched the house for burglars or break-ins. Nothing. Phew. Back to bed and slept well. The next morning I checked the obvious subjects, rickety gazebo, blown chairs. Nothing.

It wasn’t until I walked up from our bees and glanced at the French windows, I realised something horrible had occurred . Our treasured Vietnamese pot had been pushed over by a spiteful gust of wind and now lay in several pieces on the patio. Its not often I want to burst into tears but that was how I felt. We loved this pot, we had found it at Hampton Court Flower show and treated ourselves. That day had been warm, sunny and the day was filled with flowers. We ate ice-cream and walked along side the lake, laughing at the great fountains of water that cooled the air.

I know in the scheme of recent events, a broken flower pot should not cause grief. But there it was. We had carefully moved it to (we believed a sheltered spot) and despite all our care a last blast of winter had swept down to destroy it. This magnificent vessel had been created to give pleasure and help green things flourish. Something beautiful had ended.

We can fix this, said my husband while I stood despairing at the scene.

I was not certain but helped him lug the heavy pieces to our shed to see what was salvageable. Using tape we strapped the pot back together. On one side we saw a large bullet shaped hole with shattered star shaped edges.

Memory stirred. Whatever we do, I said, don’t glue both edges that you want to join. I could almost hear my father standing in his garage, restoring all sorts. If you do that you won’t give it enough space to for the pieces to bond.

We carefully glued the edges together and strapped up the inside. We gave it 24 hours to cure. Over to you said my husband. I used an air-dry clay to repair the hole. Usually a watercolour artist, I considered my options. We needed a water resistant paint that would in my mind mean oil based. On this occasion I chose acrylic and hoped for the best. I found a bold Prussian blue and tried to copy the oriental brush stroke. Finally the cracks were sealed with varnish to stop water damage.

It took us almost a week and the pot now stands united once more. The faint cracks running through it like memory, holding the idea that good things can be remade. Something to hold onto in these troubled times.