Low and behold, it’s Sir Alan of Titchmarsh on the box, hosting an hour long gardening programme. Alan is the sort of presenter who makes you feel that with a trowel in your right hand and a packet of seeds in your left, you can turn your scrub heap into Hampton Court Palace Gardens, in a matter of minutes. Your mind begins drifting with thoughts of complex planting schemes, masses of colour, soil so fertile, it produces more than the horn of plenty.
Fortunately, I have not inherited my mother’s ability to kill every plant with kindness, by drowning the poor things in compost or over feeding with the latest new soluble fertiliser. I also managed to miss the gene which gave my father the unusual skill, to pull up all the plants, leaving every single weed in situ. But I’m no garden expert either. My repeated attempts to re-create Kew Gardens, with 10 terracotta pots (2 of which are now mere crocks), the entire range of a plant catalogue and heavy clay soil, is proof positive of my abilities as a horticulturist. So with all due respect to the plant companies and in particular Mr Titchmarsh …
STOP TRYING TO FILL MY HEAD WITH PLANTS! There isn’t enough room for those and the cotton wool!
I’m planning a garden accessories scouting trip this weekend, if the weather holds, and if I can manage to avoid Sir Alan and his wicked ways. Please wish me luck!