But it was on a walk by the local river on dank New Year's Day that I came across the most unexpected thing that smelled of summer meadows.

It was the flower of the aptly-named Winter Heliotrope, Petasites fragrans and I cannot describe to you how very sweet-smelling it is.

Certainly introduced to the river banks and shady walks of this one-time private demesne, it is a relation of the more common Butterbur, Galla/n Mo/r, which has larger rounded leaves than its fragrant cousin and also flowers later, in April-May, without scent.

It is on my desk as I write and so fresh and pure is its scent that it makes the paperwhite narcissi in other rooms smell almost synthetic, though I still love them.

Winter Heliotrope has pale whitish/pinky and mauve flowerheads that are held in quite short and loose racemes, ever so slightly reminiscent of Astrantia but not really like it at all.

The foliage makes neat mounds of nearly round green foliage which is downy above and glabrous beneath.

This could be a most useful plant for shady, sometimes damp parts of the garden, where its leaves and flowers would be a great bonus at this spare time of year. It belongs to Compositae, the largest family of flowering plants, to which daisies, lettuces, dahlias, artichokes, chrysanthemums, Michaelmas daisies, marigolds and lots more all belong.

Another Winter Scent Scented winter flowers are precious and Daphne Bholua 'gurkha' (E. Nepal: 6ft) is one of the best. Flowering from December to March, it has a fabulous warm scent, of fruit and spices.

Very hardy to at least - 10C0, when at home in Nepal it grows in snow. Deciduous, it has one seedling, 'Jacqueline Postil' which is evergreen.

With a smooth bark and pink clusters of flowers that open to whitish stars, it grows fast but often dies young like many bright young things. Easy enough to grow, it should not be placed in a wind tunnel or a frost pocket.

Plant out of the glare of noon-day sun, in well-drained preferably neutral soil (though acid or alkaline will do at a pinch), in a reasonably bright place.

It appreciates a regular mulch.

The Daphne family has its troubles, being so attractive to aphids, leaf spot, grey mould (botrytis) and troublesome viruses.

But because its pleasant scents are also attractive to humans, it is particularly welcome at this time of the year when really deep fragrances are so elusive. When the summer kicks in with its lavenders, roses, stocks and lilies we are all spoilt for choice.

A gripe Green in the winter garden is especially strong now and all the more welcome for that.

But why are plant labels increasingly telling us . . . as though we were thick and ignorant . . . that something is 'non-evergreen', when what they mean is it's 'deciduous', though that word is not mentioned on those labels?

Are we going to let the deciduous word die, or go out of common usage and be replaced with plant descriptions written for idiots?

NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS

THE best resolutions are made in retrospect, I think. It is only when you see the lack that has resulted from not doing something that you really see why you must do it "nally, or you will be faced by this. . . thing. . . this great lack, every time its season comes round.

But a new broom sweeps clean and making New Year resolutions is an excellent sport, invented for a reason as we head into the harshest months. They sharpen the mind and nudge us into thinking about things. They help focus your thinking in the darkness of winter.

If there is one resolution that everybody should make it is to never, ever plant a Leyland cypress, not even one, never mind a whole hedge, though if kept rigorously clipped . . . which means the tyranny of making several cuttings in any single year . . . they can look almost silky and just about pass muster at a glance, though all around them becomes desert, sucked dry by their constant hunger.

There is a free-standing Leylandii growing in a back garden near me. It started to loom about "ve years ago and now it is a monster, blocking out its own terrace of houses from view and also the late sun from the gardens of our terrace, which is set at right angles. It is deeply depressing and increasingly so as it grows progressively larger with each new season.

Something will have to be done about it, though it is an expensive business to have them chopped down professionally. Because Leylandii will not sprout again from old wood, some people actually leave the trunks standing, free of all branches, and use them to support climbers, which is a cheaper option. Ivy is particularly quick at colonising them and can look quite handsome in the right setting.

The dreaded Leylandii aside, there is no need to get into a panic about the size that things can grow. But people do worry about plants 'taking over', and while they are quite right to fear the onward march of our foe, the Big L, there is little reason to fear any specimen, large or small, as long as it's planted in the right place.

But if they are in the wrong place, say a tree with freeranging questing roots very near the foundations of a building, or if you feel overwhelmed by a plant or plants, then you shouldn't have them there or anywhere near you and it's best to remove them from your garden forever.

Now is a good time to take a cool, calm and collected look at your space, to take stock and decide whether to prune something to "t in and enhance, or let something grow naturally as it will, or remove it all together. If the latter, the bonus will be an amazing new space to play with and if you can let something go out of your life forever, then either you've outgrown it or probably didn't like it very much anyway.