Tipped out

It’s amazing how much rubbish a small garden can generate. And you know that something has to be done when Him Indoors pointedly reminds you.

The conversation went something like this…

‘Is this for you? Or is it a present for someone else?’, the sales assistant asked as she wrapped up my Crabtree & Evelyn Gardener’s hand cream.

‘It’s for me’

‘Is that after all the gardening you’ve done?’

‘No’, replied Him Indoors firmly. ‘It’s for all the gardening she’s still got to do..!’

Winter couldn’t come at a better time for gardeners. Sandwiched between the end of one growing season and the start of another, it provides the hiatus needed for putting past disasters firmly behind you, to create the opportunity to think through your plans as well as regain some enthusiasm to get stuck back in.  And, if you ignore blips in the weather – like the major snowfall we’ve had recently – you can really make a difference in a very short space of time. In theory. In practice, well, life’s not like that.

I have spent the last two hours clearing an area that is no bigger than a small rug, and in the process accrued enough dead plant material to thatch a medium-sized bungalow. That I can now see the ground, and have provided a constant smorgasbord for two robins, one dunnock and a blackbird, is very satisfying. The downside, and there always has to be one, is that all my joints are seizing up and, unless I have a hot bath before going out tonight I shall resemble a Wooden Top ( remember them?) when I try to move. I’ve filled every available bag, barrow and bin, and the garden is still buried under heaps of rubbish. This is going to be a long job.

But I’m not worried. Yet.

But in four months time a local garden group are visiting, albeit with the proviso that they accept whatever state the garden is in. Could I pass it off as the latest ‘lost garden’ design? After all, it worked for the Gardens at Heligan. Maybe a free machete  and a Tarzan outfit for every visitor, along with tea and cake, would sweeten the pill.

In fairness the garden has been long overdue a complete overhaul. Actually, we’ve not only reached that point, but long since passed it – by about eighteen months if I’m being honest. The combination of weather and neglect has taken its toll, and my verdant patch is looking somewhat scruffy and down at heel; a bit like an ageing spinster stuck in a 1970’s time warp, all Crimplene and big hair. Think Abigail’s party, but in moss and twigs.

As I’ve now run out of rubbish bags, Him Indoors has agreed to go to the tip. Hurray! The perfect division of labour. I make the mess. He clears it up. It also diverts him away from his over- enthusiastic pruning attempts. To be fair, he was quite cautious when it came to trimming back the variegated Euonymus. But I think this was more to do with finding an old bird’s nest and two hawk-eyed robins, rather than anything I had to say on the subject.

However, our activities have been spotted. During one of his endless trips up and down the road with an overflowing car boot, one of the neighbours stopped him to ask whether the garden was empty yet. No, it isn’t, but the kettle’s on, and I’m proving sharp tools and a loincloth to anyone foolish enough to want to join in.