Thorny problems: why won't my Ipomoea flower? And now? If I were you, I would gently repot it (in loam-based compost) and put it somewhere sheltered for the winter, since the exposed roots and brittle stems you describe sound rather vulnerable. Even though it is slightly late to do so (see tips), take cuttings of any bits that snap off during the repotting process as insurance. Trim the straggliest shoots away in the spring, leaving most to flower, and feed it as it starts to grow. Don't forget to groom and prune it next year. Plumbago blues I have taken of a rich dark blue plumbago from a friend's garden in Majorca invariably turn out a standard pale blue when they flower over here, in pots of multipurpose compost, the following year. Why is this? Should I have used ericaceous compost? Sabrina Pomfret, via email I have to admit that your columnist is stumped. I have had a similar problem. Although I am not lucky enough to have a friend in Majorca whose garden I can plunder, I was thrilled to find a distinctly darker-than-usual flower of the tender Plumbago auriculata for sale a few years ago and waited for it to produce similarly luminous, rich cerulean flowers the following year, only to be (slightly) crestfallen when it produced regular, pale-china-blue ones. I got various experts scratching their heads and guessing, and between us we came up with the following: I had already put aside the growing medium and moisture as factors, having read that this is a plant that thrives on neglect and having seen it in floral profusion (both light and slightly darker flowered) growing on limy garden soil. However, reading a contradiction somewhere that it prefers "slightly acidic" conditions, I tried watering mine with rainwater with an annual Sequestrene (iron) tonic - with no discernible change in flower colour. I came to the conclusion, therefore, that this is not a plant that is fussed about where or how it grows. One theory has it that the pale flowers may be the result of contrasting temperatures between the tepid heat of the short British summer and the cool winter quarters (e.g. a barely heated greenhouse) that are often given to a "resting" plumbago. It has not much to recommend it as a conservatory or winter house plant, so is often banished and given a renovation haircut in spring. There is also the possibility that a lack of direct sunlight is the cause, but in my experience, a plumbago with too little sunshine simply becomes stringy-stemmed and fails to flower. If a plumbago aficionado out there has a definitive answer to this variable-colour problem, please write in and let me know. Maybe Sabrina and I should give up and start again, by seeking out suppliers (few and far between) of the variety 'Escapade Blue', described as "darker-flowered and slightly more compact." Seeking silver seeds Finally, back to growing things from seed: a vital tip for Gale Cooper, who has been on a wild-goose chase for seeds of the useful silky-silver-leafed ground-cover plant for hot, dry (but not necessarily blazingly sunny) places, Stachys byzantina 'Silver Carpet'. This is a sterile variety, prized by some not just for its leaves but also for its non-flowering properties, and is therefore always sold as plants propagated via division, a job generally carried out in spring. When Gale resumes her search (using the RHS Plant Finder if local nurseries do not stock it), she might come across an altogether chubbier variety - Stachys byzantina 'Big Ears', also known as 'Countess Helen von Stein' (are we to understand that the poor Countess von Stein was over-endowed in the ear department, or am I getting carried away?). This variety doesn't flower much - and the few furry pinkish flowered "candles" produced can simply be nipped off if they are not wanted. Attention-seeking annuals Maureen Hughes has had problems with the Ipomoea 'Heavenly Blue' (or morning glory) seedlings that she planted out on June 11. They grew wonderfully well, producing lots of twining stems and leaves but have so far produced only tiny buds and not a single flower to glorify her early mornings. More familiar complaints I get about this lovely but annoyingly fussy thing involve stalled early growth caused by root disturbance during the planting-out process, and small, bleached-white leaves, the result of cold nights: they really can't be put outside until at least the second week of June. Reading further between the lines of Maureen's email, her plants are just taking their time, and the tiny buds should eventually swell and flower - better late than never. I would suggest that, as she lives just 100 yards from the sea, the site is just not sunny or sheltered enough. She may also have given them too much nitrogen-rich fertiliser early on, in her attempt to get them growing well. High-potash tomato food is what is needed once they start producing buds. Apropos of my various exultations about self-sown annuals, Gemma Boston asks for advice about her 'Fairy Wings' poppies, which won't grow where she casts her carefully saved seed, instead popping up in places where they aren't really required. And, she has discovered, the young seedlings don't take very happily to being transplanted. Personally, I find that the mild misbehaviour of this mixed and delicately coloured version of the cornfield annual Papaver rhoeas is rather fun - will the errant rogues turn out to be a "good," garden-tapestry-enhancing colour or a disappointing wishy-washy white? After all, you can always pluck out any boring ones as they show their colours. However, Gemma may like to try a bit of jiggery-pokery around now: sowing some of the saved seed in labelled seed trays, barely covering them with sand and putting them in a cold frame to germinate (with slug/snail protection). In the spring, once the seedlings are about 10cm (4in) high, she should cut the compost they are growing in into rough inch-wide blocks and carefully press them a few inches apart into loosened soil where she wants to see her poppies flower. A little "survival of the fittest" thinning out in subsequent weeks should give her the flowers she loves just where she wants them. A lot of bother maybe, but the crumpled openings of these papery poppies are pure heaven on a sunny June morning. The same fuss could be taken over love-in-a-mist (Nigella), I think, another hardy annual self-seeder that has a tendency to overdo it in inconvenient places and doesn't like to be transplanted.