Like a Kid in a Sweet Shop – Mornings at the Flower Market

There’s nothing quite like a morning at the flower market. While most people are still tucked up in bed, snoozing through their alarms, florists like me are already out the door—coffee in hand, hair probably still doing its own thing—heading to one of our favourite places in the world.

It’s not glamorous. It’s usually dark, often drizzly, and let’s be honest, most of us are running on caffeine and sheer enthusiasm. But there’s something magical about those early hours. The flower market is where it all begins—the heartbeat of our work. It’s where we find the stems that will end up brightening someone’s hallway, bringing joy to a birthday table, or becoming the centrepiece at a wedding.

The atmosphere is always a mix of chaos and charm. Trolleys squeaking past with towering buckets, sellers shouting greetings across the aisles, the hum of chatter as florists and growers swap updates on what’s in season, what’s struggling, and what’s just come in looking too good to leave behind. It’s loud, it’s busy, and it smells—well, like a wild mix of heaven and a slightly neglected pond. Some stalls hit you with that fresh, green scent of eucalyptus or the sweet perfume of stock, and others… well, let’s just say compost and damp stems have their own distinctive personality.

Just when you think it couldn’t get any better—the Dutch lorries roll in. These massive refrigerated trucks arrive packed to the rafters with flowers from the Netherlands. When those big metal doors swing open, it’s like Christmas morning for florists. Crates and crates spill out, overflowing with roses in buttery yellows, rich violets, soft blushes, and every dreamy shade in between. You’ll spot tulips with ruffled edges, peonies that look like they were made of silk, cheerful anemones with inky black centres, and ranunculus with so many layers they make you dizzy.

I swear, I turn into a child in a sweet shop. All sense of budget, practicality, or restraint disappears. My carefully written list might as well be confetti at that point—love takes over. Dutch flowers are a class of their own—grown with care, precision, and decades of expertise. The quality is impeccable, and the variety never ceases to amaze me. 

But lately, I’ve been falling more and more in love with our homegrown blooms, too. Last month  I visited a British growers market, and the whole place was buzzing with life. There’s a different kind of beauty to British flowers—sometimes a little wilder, a little more imperfect in the most perfect way. You can tell they’ve grown with the rhythm of our seasons. Growers with muddy boots and proud smiles, florists swapping stories, tips, and maybe the occasional trade secret. There’s a strong sense of community. Even though we’re all technically competitors, there’s a shared understanding—we’re all here because we love this craft. We all just want to go home with the best stems and turn them into something that’ll make someone’s day.

Back at the workshop, I unload the car. It's bursting with buckets of colour, texture, and scent. There’s a quiet joy in that moment—laying everything out, seeing what combinations jump out, deciding which bunches were impulse buys and which ones were meant to be all along. That’s when the real magic begins: arranging, styling, and letting the flowers do what they do best—bring beauty into someone’s space.

So if you ever get the chance to visit a flower market—do it. Go early, wear comfy shoes (preferably ones you don’t mind getting a bit soggy), and don’t be afraid to get your hands dirty. Whether you're a florist, a flower fanatic, or just someone who loves a good sensory adventure, it’s an experience you won’t forget.

It’s messy. It’s beautiful. It’s chaotic and calming all at once. And trust me—you’ll fall in love with flowers all over again.