One plant was meant to be enough

The difficult moment arrives when someone asks how many plants you have. Do cuttings count? Does the one recovering in the bathroom count? There is a clear difference between owning another plant and accepting a small piece of somebody else's, although the windowsill has yet to recognise it.

A first plant is easy to accommodate. You find a pot, put it somewhere promising and admire the improvement. Several plants later, watering involves moving the fruit bowl, and the kitchen window can only be opened by reaching through a fern. The collection has acquired a certain authority. People visiting the house are asked to mind the leaves before they have taken their coats off.

We have considerable sympathy. A new leaf can be a ridiculous source of pleasure. So can the stubborn cutting which, after weeks of apparent inactivity, finally grows a root. You find yourself examining it while the kettle boils, then taking a photograph to send to the person who gave it to you. Meanwhile, twelve pots are balanced on the same narrow ledge.

This is where a plant stand earns its floor space. The most appealing arrangements let you see both the plants and the room around them. In the green-windowed garden room, terracotta pots sit on a simple timber ladder shelf. Its stepped shelves give each pot a visible outline, while the spaces between them leave some of the plaster wall in view. You can enjoy the collection without feeling obliged to count it.

Elsewhere, one large plant beside an armchair is enough. The dark bamboo stand lifts the pale pot just clear of the floor; the leaves provide most of the shape. There is no need to surround it with smaller companions. The chair still wants somewhere for a person to put their elbow.

The yellow breakfast corner takes a lighter approach. Two round white trays make room for two pots while the table stays available for breakfast. Someone may even get to put the marmalade down. The exact position still needs to suit the plants themselves; the nicest arrangement in a picture cannot tell you what will thrive in your particular room.

For the person who would rather keep the collection together, the staggered black stand offers another possibility. Pots at different heights are easier to distinguish than a row of foliage at one level. The empty spaces matter here too. Filling every available platform with the biggest plant that will fit would leave very little of that pleasing outline.

It is worth being honest about which part of collecting you enjoy. Perhaps it is the changing leaves and the ritual of watering. Perhaps it is choosing pots. For some of us, a surprising amount of it appears to be bringing things home and announcing that they were only little.

A settled display lets you notice what you already have. There is the cutting from a friend, finally large enough for a pot of its own, and the ungainly specimen you keep turning towards the room because its best side is never facing the chair. You might leave a small gap beside it. For now, anyway. The next time somebody offers you a cutting, it would be rude to say no.