The Mediterranean Soul.

For those 99% of people who, by mistake, are going to read this and don’t know me, I’m Sicilian.

I am proud of my origins and my accent..

Anyway, the reason I’m sharing this is because I know a thing or two about Mediterranean gardens. It’s in the blood; that’s where I grew up surrounded by it. Ideas flow naturally. Hard to fake.

I recently completed a Mediterranean-inspired garden project in Islington, and it got me thinking. We try to replicate and do things just for the sake of it, not because we truly believe in it.

Let me explain what I mean.

When I work through London neighbourhoods, I see plenty of "Mediterranean" gardens that miss the point entirely. They've got the gravel, maybe some lavender bushes, perhaps a few terracotta pots scattered about. But they feel hollow..

The thing about real Mediterranean gardens – the ones I remember from my nonna's house in Sicily – is that they're born from necessity, not much for aesthetics. Every plant and feature serves a purpose. The olive trees aren't just for show; they're there because olive oil is liquid gold in our kitchen. The rosemary grows wild because it's hardy, fragrant, and we use it in everything from roasted lamb to focaccia.

This Islington project taught me something important. The clients initially wanted what everyone wants: the Instagram version of Mediterranean living. Clean lines, perfectly manicured lavender rows, that sanitised vision of rustic charm. But as we talked, I realised they didn't want a Mediterranean garden at all. They wanted the feeling of slow summer evenings, the scent of herbs crushed, the sense that their garden was feeding both their bodies and souls.

So we scrapped the Pinterest board and started over. Instead of forcing drought-resistant plants into London's damp climate, we found the emotional equivalent...

We planted English lavender that would actually thrive in the London rain, not the Mediterranean varieties that would just suffer through British winters. We added a small herb spiral with thyme, sage, and oregano – herbs that would grow happily here while still giving that aromatic punch I remembered from home.

The real breakthrough came when I suggested we think about how the space would be used, not just how it would look. In Sicily, gardens aren't separate from daily life – they're woven into it. My family didn't admire their tomato plants from a distance; they picked them for lunch.

So we created what I call “Bellezza Intenzionale” or simply "purposeful beauty." A corner dedicated to growing ingredients for the client's cooking experiments. Stone seating that encouraged lingering over morning coffee, positioned to catch the best light. Climbing jasmine that would perfume evening conversations, not just provide a backdrop for photos.

The funny thing is, by the time we finished, it didn't look like a typical "Mediterranean garden" at all. But it felt like one. It had that sense of abundance, of a space that gives back to you rather than just demanding maintenance.

This is what bothers me about garden design today – we're copying the appearance of things without understanding their soul. Most of the time, we overthink. A real Mediterranean approach isn't about recreating Sicily in North London. It's about bringing that philosophy of living: practical beauty, seasonal rhythms, spaces that nourish you. You can’t fake it.

That's the difference between doing something because it looks right and doing it because it feels right. And trust me, when you grow up Sicilian, you learn to tell the difference.