On the Edge of the World Cup of Floral Art 2025
Aug 22, 2025
Image - Blush Dahlia Sculpture
The studio feels alive at the moment.
Every day is steady, focused, purposeful - preparing for what’s ahead. In just a few days, I’ll board a plane to the Netherlands, visit some of my favourite flower farms, and begin the final preparations to represent the United Kingdom at the very first World Cup Floral Art. Isn't that a WILD sentence?
It’s the biggest stage in floristry. A new global championship, born from Florint’s Europa Cup, now expanded to bring together the very best designers from all over the world. I’ve been lucky enough to demonstrate and teach in many countries throughout my career, but this will be my first international competition as an adult - as a fully fledged designer, not a newcomer.
It’s a surreal thing to consider, that in just over one week, I could be holding a trophy that says World Cup of Floral Art Winner. It’s wild. It’s exciting. It’s a little daunting. But I won’t dwell on that part too much.
Because I know, hand on heart, I’ve already found what I came here to seek.
Back in May 2024, I decided to re-enter competitive floristry after more than a decade away. I signed up for the British Florist of the Year competition because something in me was stirring. It kept nudging at me, asking, what if you tried?
I wasn’t thinking about medals or trophies. I just wanted to return to the practice. The discipline. The joy of making work that challenged me. And then I won.
That national win secured my place as the UK’s competitor for the World Cup - and the pace hasn’t stopped since. Eleven months of designing, refining, training, testing and building. Then testing again. The World Cup comprises six tasks, each one designed to stretch every part of your floristry skill set. Two are full surprise tasks - one kicks off the competition on day one, and the other is only revealed to the final ten competitors, who will complete it live on stage at the World Forum in The Hague. Two are half surprise, where we know the structure or the theme in advance, but we’ll be presented with flowers on the day. The final two are pre-designed, these are the ones I’ll be bringing with me, fully planned and ready to assemble (these, incase you couldn't have guessed, are my favourite!)
Every schedule presents an opportunity. Not just to answer the brief, but to answer it in a way that feels completely personal. That’s what I’ve been working toward. To find my voice in the structure of each brief. To make choices that feel aligned with the kind of work I want to share with the world.
Some of these pieces have felt like pure joy to develop. Task One - a large design inspired by the traditional Dutch tulip vase - allowed for something bold, architectural, and gloriously dramatic. Task Four, a hand-tied bouquet designed to be paired with a vase made just for the competition and titled 'A Touch of Rose Gold', demanded something more subtle, but no less intentional. Task Five, a wearable floral headpiece inspired by Iris Van Herpen, has pushed me to refine, rework and reimagine over and over - and in the process, I’ve fallen back in love with this kind of making.
I know these designs intimately. I know their limits. I know their strengths. I’ve studied how they respond to movement, to light, to time. I know them like I know my own hands.
I feel ready.
It’s been twenty years since I took my first job in a flower shop in Liverpool, scrubbing buckets and sweeping floors. I didn’t grow up dreaming of flowers - but the moment I stepped into that shop, I felt something shift. And I haven’t looked back since.
Over the past two decades, floristry has taken me everywhere. I’ve competed in nearly twenty floral design competitions. I’ve won five Chelsea Gold Medals, including four Best in Show. I’ve created installations for cruise ships, for palaces, and once, to my total delight, the White House.
I’ve designed for weddings and shows, for private clients and public spaces. I’ve dressed castles and rooftops, forests and warehouses. I’ve made work that’s travelled oceans and will hopefully live beyond me.
And in the last decade, I’ve focused more and more on education - creating space for florists and flower lovers to grow their craft with care and confidence. I’ve taught thousands of students through Flower Class, our monthly online membership, which now reaches over 400 florists each and every month. I teach in person at my school in Manchester, The UK School of Floristry, and lead demonstrations and workshops across the world. I’ve written The Flower School, now published in English, French and Chinese. I’ve created eBooks on the Principles and Elements of Floral Design, The Golden Ratio, Sustainable Floristry, and Fine Wiring Techniques. And I co-host the Flowers After Hours podcast with my dear friend Matthew Landers - who will be by my side in The Hague, assisting me at the World Cup.
My tutorials and short videos have been viewed by millions of people on social media. I still find that astonishing. But at the heart of it all is something very simple. Me, the flowers, and the quiet joy of making something that feels like mine.
This year, though, hasn’t only been about flowers. It’s also been a year of deep reflection. In January, I was formally diagnosed with autism.
The process started the spring before, on a very normal morning. I was reading an article in The Guardian about autism, and something about it rang true. I took two, free, online tests. Both returned scores comfortably over the diagnostic threshold. I asked the three people closest to me if they’d ever considered the possibility. All three said yes (a little too quickly for my liking).
After months of reading, reflecting, testing and conversation, I received my diagnosis. And since then, I’ve been quietly unravelling what it means - for me, for my work, for my relationships.
What I know so far is this: it’s helped me look back with more gentleness. There are moments in my life I used to carry with shame or frustration. Now, I see them differently. I was never too much, too exacting, too hard to work with. I was just different. And now that I know that, I can care for myself better. I can extend more compassion to others. And maybe - just maybe - I can encourage more conversations like this one.
I’m not a spokesperson. But I do believe that the more we talk about neurodivergence, the more room we make for all kinds of brains to thrive - especially in an industry like ours, built on sensitivity, creativity and intuition.
As my therapist once said, there’s a lot more space for things outside of you than there is inside of you. And I believe that’s true.
So here I am. Standing on the edge of the biggest moment of my career.
In just over a week, I might be standing on stage in The Hague, holding a trophy that reads World Champion.
It’s surreal. But I’m not chasing the outcome. I’m not here to prove anything to anyone.
Because I’ve already done the thing I set out to do. I’ve built work that speaks to who I am. I’ve honoured the craft that’s shaped my life. I’ve stretched myself creatively, technically, and personally in ways that I never could have predicted.
I’ve given everything I've got.
And in return, this experience has brought me back to what I love most - the process. The learning. The joy of building something from nothing. The quiet, daily act of trusting your instincts and making something beautiful, one stem at a time.
That’s the real win.
And now, it’s time.
Let's dive on in.
Artist. Educator. Writer. Broadcaster.
