Wednesday, February 27, 2008


Cats think they understand gardening.

They don’t.

But because they think they do, they join in. This isn’t helpful.

Ming doesn’t understand gardening either but he likes to potter around in the sunshine, seeing what he can find.

Yesterday afternoon, he found two willow herb seedlings and wanted to bring them onto the kitchen windowsill so he could tend them - ‘because they are red’.

See what I mean?

‘Pottering in the sunshine’ isn’t popular on Mars - so he’s making the most of it here.

The blackcurrant bush was left un-pruned last summer, submerged, as it was, beneath a dome
of convolvulus.

I’ve cut away the dead wood and trimmed back the branches (the ones which touched the wall or were beginning to overhang the path).


Lucy is our next door neighbour in one direction. Mrs Rustbridger lives next door to us on the other side.

Lucy thinks she knows everything.

Mrs Rustbridger’s speciality is to think we know nothing.

Mrs Rustbridger says (frequently) that I should have destroyed the convolvulus and pruned the blackcurrant bush at the right time. She doesn’t understand. There were only ten currants on the bush and white-trumpet flowers are dazzlingly pretty on a hot summer’s day.

We’re ignoring the letter from the Manchester bookseller as assiduously as we are ignoring Mrs Rustbridger’s advice.


While I was cutting along the edges with Ming’s spade, I found a pair of small slippers, placed neatly next to each other beside the garden bench.

Ming said they probably belong to our children.

But, we don’t have any children! We only got married last week!
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