There was a time when I could never seriously consider using a plant with orange flowers in a planting scheme. In the garden in my last house in the UK - east facing, deeply shaded and bordered by moss-covered stone walls - it was cool blues, pinks and whites that suited the pale, weak sunlight and grey skies of rainy northern England. A so-called 'hot' border - fiery scarlets, tropical pinks and oranges - those which looked so wonderful in the sunny cottage gardens you'd see in the warmer, drier south of the country, would have simply looked gaudy and incongruous next to the ferns and foxgloves thriving in the dark and damp. Now, of course it's all very different. My little garden in Mushrif, although east facing, gets considerably more sunlight and of course almost no rain. The dominant feature on the high wall which runs the length of the garden is a spectacular bourgainvillea, with an expanse of year-round flowers that range in colour from a light coral in summer to deep orange in the winter months. Right now, even with minimum care or attention, it's looking glorious. The warmth and vibrancy this brings to the garden has made orange my most reliable go-to colour. It leaps out from shady corners and, naturally, suits the bright desert sunlight perfectly. Yesterday at the plant souk in Al Mina, I picked up a couple of blousy deep coral hibiscus which are now illuminating a previously uninteresting stretch of border. Later, at the Desert Garden Centre in Khalifa Park, I also bought six pelargonium (or geranium as most know them) in a perfect, vivid shade of orange I've not seen here before. I paid Dh8 each for them and planted them together in a tall pot, placed between two tall green duranta (Dh70 each from the garden centre) whose dense clusters of tiny purple flowers, now in abundance, offset the boldness and form of the pelargonium perfectly. Flanking these are my two favourite patio plants (and most sucessful charges), a couple of citrus trees which have thrived in the semi-shade next to the house. The miniature fruits have multiplied continually since autumn, their skins gradually deepening in colour from golden yellow to deep ruby orange. In that lovely warm pink light just before dusk, the delicate scent of the trees' tiny white flowers mingles with that of the frangipani overhead, the perfect tiny fruits nestling among the dark glossy leaves dazzling against the clean white walls of the villa. Right now, every colour in the garden just seems bland by comparison.