21st May The Greg Wallace of gardening


I am to gardening what Monty Don is to the world of haute Cuisine. All that potting and planting and pruning and persevering and pretending you are not in a competition with your neighbours as to who has the neatest herbacious borders, it's just not for me. In fact it is one of my least favourite things to do with October to April being far and away my favourite months in the gardening calender when nothing grows and there is less than bugger all to do. 

Unless it comes to a bit of judicious hacking. Give me a hedge trimmer and something to trim, or in my case 'destroy' and I am your man. I am the Greg Wallace of gardening, full of enthusiasm matched only by my limited skill / knowledge. If it's in my way, it's gone.

So much so that I have have just spent a very theraputic 40 mins kneeling on my foam knee pad de-weedign my back patio, which had come to resemble an area it would have taken those at the Chelsea Flower Show several weeks to manufacture, such was the hybrid variety of 'things' growing between my patio slabs.

But no longer. With half the job done and a 'liberal' amount of the stuff American troops dropped on Vietnamese villages soaking the bits I might have missed, I might even look forward to completing the second half tomorrow. Assuming none of the weedkiller I used went on my hands and I wake up to discover I have no fingers.

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