I've finally realised why my front garden never prospers. It's nothing to do with the moisture-absorbing walls, the weird topsoil and the layer of unyielding rubble just a few inches below ground. No, it's because my neighbour is shooting poison arrows at it. They're being launched right out of the bristling television aerial on his roof. He's been doing it for years, but I only realised this recently.
And these arrows are really bad news, being made of Shar Chi or killing breath - that is, pure negative energy, or so I've just learned after reading The Complete Illustrated Guide to Feng Shui for Gardens by Lillian Too ("the Public Face of Feng Shui Worldwide", according to the dust jacket). Feng Shui - as anyone who has read a lifestyle magazine in the past few years knows - is the ancient Chinese art of managing one's living space so that all is balanced and beautiful, leading to happiness, health and wealth.
According to Ms Too, "identifying and dealing with poison arrows that are present in the environment are an essential part of Feng Shui practice". Poison arrows can be anything that is sharp, pointed, straight or triangular, or that appears hostile or threatening. Hidden poison arrows are the worst: innocuous-seeming things like estate agents' signs and my neighbour's spiky aerial.
The trouble is that my neighbour isn't even aware of this, and I can't ask him to remove his aerial because he'll think I'm crazy. Much better to deal with it quietly. I understand that I can plant a tree to diffuse the bad energies, so that's one solution. But incredibly, through a treacherous Feng Shui about-turn, trees - if they're not sufficiently luxuriant and spreading - can turn into poison arrows. Yikes!
Obviously, something more dependable and unambiguous is required. Yes, here we are, on page 25: "place a cannon aimed directly at the neighbouring roof to fire back the negative energy".
Right so! Having blasted the Shar Chi back across the road, the next thing I'll need to do is start collecting Sheng Chi, or green dragon's breath. Unlike Shar Chi - which travels in straight, lethal lines - Sheng Chi (or just Chi, if you prefer) daunders along in a lazy, happy-go-lucky fashion. And wherever it accumulates, good things happen.
It's easily scattered in draughty places, but I'm lucky to have a relatively sheltered garden, and my pond, I've just learned, is great for creating Chi. (The goldfish, to boot, are marvellous at preventing the Chi from stagnating). This is good news, because while one can do many things to attract Chi (grow window boxes of bright flowers, leave an open area in front of the hall door and erect a pavilion with a meandering path), I'm not sure if it's okay to go around gathering it up willy-nilly. I mean what about the neighbours? Will there be enough for everyone if one person starts stockpiling it all? Should you need planning permission to trap Chi?
Once you've got your Chi sorted out, it's time to think about Yin and Yang. We all know these fellows: they are most commonly seen pleasingly entwined in a circle - not unlike two contrasting tadpoles, a white-eyed black one and a black-eyed white one . Too much Yin (shadow, flatness, water, winter) and your garden won't flourish. Too much Yang (strong sunlight, raised landforms, dry conditions, summer) and your garden won't flourish either.
So to keep your Yin and Yang balance sweet, establish shady areas next to sunny areas, combine flat land with lumpy land, mix stones with moving water and grassy areas with paving. An inanimate statue or two will nicely offset all the animate plants and critters of the garden.
Bird sculptures however, must be placed in the south-facing sector, while fishy ones are most auspicious when east- or south-east-facing. Statues of heroes and cupids are just dandy, but care must be taken that potential poison arrows (cupids' darts and thrusting lances, for instance) are pointed safely outwards. And what of plants, those green citizens of the garden? Well, flowering types should be mixed with foliage ones, but they can't just be any old plants that you happen to fancy. Oh no, plants present endless difficulties in Feng Shui! Succulents are very lucky, but cacti are not - nor are prickly or aggressive plants (which means that stately teasels, eryngiums, agaves, yuccas and ornamental thistles are all outlawed).
Weeping willows are also rejected because of their sad, hang-dog demeanour. Pendulous fuchsias, however, are grand: their red-lantern flowers are full of Yang energy. Indeed all red flowers are good, but are best in the south sector; blue ones are good too, but definitely not in the south. White ones are best on the tiger side of the house (which is the opposite of the green dragon' s side), but they must be very low-growing.
If in doubt, you could do worse than refer to the Four Gentlemen of the Garden: plum, bamboo, orchid and chrysanthemum. Annoyingly though, only two of them - plum and bamboo - stick around to become the Three Friends of Old Age, when they are joined by the pine.
It's all rather confusing really, and I'm not surprised to learn that Feng Shui masters study for years to make sense of it all. Still, if I hadn't taken the crash course in Ms Too's book, I'd never have known what was wrong with my front garden. Now where's that cannon price-list?
The Complete Illustrated Guide to Feng Shui for Gardens by Lillian Too is published by Element £18.99 in UK.)