Kia ora, the lovely thing about winter gardening is the opportunity it gives me to sit inside and read about all the things I could be doing.
For example I could clean my garage, I could clean all my gardening tools, I could fly to the moon if I had wings
Unlike writing, which has to be done every day, my kind of Winter gardening is not so demanding. I have reckless impulses of course, there’ll come a day, it’ll be cold but the sun will be shining. I’ll charge outside, rip out everything in sight, lug the evidence to the Green Waste then make a mad sortie to the garden centre. I’ll fill the car to the gunwales and then come home and plant it all.
I’ll suffer the aftermath – sore arms, sore legs, stiff shoulders and back plus a large dent in wallet – but these are mere bagatelles compared to the bliss I feel.
In my head – long lovely summer days lolling on a deckchair reading in my lovely wonderful fantastic garden.
Yeah right. Dream on Renée. Underneath the earth the weeds are smiling.
And the garage will be done. The mother who lives in my head will see to that. But not today…
