Gardening – a term which fills me with dread. I’ve always hated gardening and everything that goes with it.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t dislike gardens, I appreciate the effort which goes into a garden but I just don’t want to bother with all of that myself. If I had a choice between gardening and reading a book – the latter would win. As would cooking, cleaning, ironing, walking, driving and much more…
The only time I choose to go to a garden centre is to meet someone for coffee and cake – never for any other reason. A couple of years ago, a close family member bought me gardening vouchers for my birthday and I almost spit out my dummy. When, some months later, I raised the issue I was told that I was ‘approaching the age when I’d be into that sort of thing’. A comment guaranteed to ensure that when I hit 60 I’ll be even less interested in gardening than I am now!
Today, however, I was part of a family team of gardeners. Having stared at the weeds growing up alongside our house for a couple of months, my need to deal with a problem boiled over. And my usual strategy – kicked in. We all muck in and do it in a morning – or I will be spending all day doing it myself. Always works.
So I now have cuts and bruises from pulling brambles, after my gloves ripped and my feet were black after realising that gardening with crocs on probably wasn’t such a good idea.
I then had to go to a garden centre with my other half to buy some plants to fill the space left by weeds and brambles. Somehow we actually ended up at B&Q – a place which also ranks in my list of awful places to visit.
So today’s lesson is this – I still hate gardening but having grasped the nettle (quite literally several times) the place looks a little better.
How many months until I have to do some more?