One who gardens

Amanda has been attempting to make our garden feel less like a small square of concrete in Central London and more like the green countryside she grew up in. The result of this is a plethora of beautiful plant pots lining our garden steps and an evening ritual that occasionally includes me heading out with the watering can.

So far, the plants are surviving (thriving, even), and I’ve been recruited into the garden maintenance programme. Amanda does the vast majority of the hard work, but I am now, in some sense, someone who gardens. I visit garden centres and look at plants. I assess shrubs and estimate (with no real knowledge or understanding) their viability in our soil. And I look enviously on at garden gadgets, convinced they’ll make the world a better place (Amanda disagrees).

Flickr photos will follow, but (from memory) we have two lavender plants, some parsley, oregano, mint, roses, fuchsia, sage, thyme and some generically pretty flowers, the names of which I can’t remember. I think Amanda calls them pink flower and yellow flower, and I’m under strict instructions not to use them in any cooking.