The Indian Bean Tree

I have always loved trees, yet it has become a perennial disappointment that I can never remember their names, I mean species. So it will come as no surprise to you that my favourite of all trees is the Indian Bean Tree, a tree whose name falls easily on the ears of of an idiot, and whose leaves can be spotted, even at some distance, by a regular contact lens truant.

I first fell in love with this tree when I ricocheted through the tourists at Piccadilly Circus into the throng of expensive suits that marches up Piccadilly. Rushing to a work placement, I nevertheless clocked the tranquil churchyard, noting the way it sat nonchalantly back from the busy thoroughfare in front of St James's church, wishing I could linger.

I returned later that day to eat my lunch, resisting the urge to trace with my finger the initials of George VI that sit proudly in the intricate wrought iron gates, and passed through into the gloriously empty churchyard. It was only after I had ravenously devoured a sandwich - one which, in truth, deserved greater attention, given its pressed by virgin thighs price tag - that I was humbled to find myself sitting in the company of greatness.

Not two metres away, turmeric yellow leaves the size of horseshoes created a stunningly full, heavy-laden dome of foliage above the vintage trunk. On closer inspection, the leaves were heart- shaped, and looked a little like the exuberant misshapen hearts that kids draw in other kids' exercise books, relishing their first taste of rebellion.

Adding to the tree's splendour was a green medal which hung casually around the trunk. It confirmed the tree's status as a "Great Tree of London", if indeed further confirmation were needed.

The tree looked impervious to the sticky bustle of the busy street beyond the gates of the churchyard, as if soothed by the wisdom of age. Later that day I found out that it had achieved its standing under the sub category of "oldest", although I'm sure this particular tree could have satisfied any of the indicators of greatness on their website.

Given my growing affection for it over the next couple of weeks, I was delighted to find that my parents had planted an Indian Bean Tree in their garden. I can't wait for the opportunity to see the tree in flower, something I have not been fortunate enough to witness on my lunch breaks.

My parents' tree is growing well and, at under six feet, has already accrued the distinctive leaves. I have also been able, much to the amazement of my dad, to drop snippets of horticultural wisdom when the tree is mentioned. Just don't ask me to recognise a chestnut tree!