Now, I’d always thought that gardening meant spending time in one’s garden, on one’s knees, trowel in hand, planting little bulbs, spreading compost, digging up things, dead-heading roses, watering, mowing, hoeing, spreading, fertilising and the like.
But apparently not!
I have just been put on “Gardening Leave”. Which is to say, that I have resigned from my job and because I’m skipping off merrily into the arms of a competitor, I’ve been asked to leave.
I have to say, I do understand the reasoning behind it. Wonderful Man, when he bravely left his advertising job to set up a photography business, was put on gardening leave of three months. And I have spoken to friends in the City who say it’s a regular occurrence. Apparently it’s because when you resign, if you’re going to a competitor, then there’s a good chance that you’ll be very naughty indeed and start to pinch paper clips. Or even staples. Tut tut! So instead of giving you the chance of pinching paper clips (or even, damn you to hell, staples), you’re – very politely but firmly – asked to “please remove all personal articles from your desk and vacate the premises forthwith. And don’t try and nick any staples on the way out, because we’re watching you”.
So off I went! With a bit of a lump in my throat, I have to confess. For no matter how excited you are about your next career, it’s always sad to leave your last one. Especially after five years. But onwards and upwards, as Amelia Earhart used to say.
And of course, during gardening leave I’m not allowed to say anything about gardening leave. Rule Number One with Gardening Leave: You Never Talk About Gardening Leave. Rule Number Two: You Never Talk About Gardening Leave. Rule Number Three: You Never…well, you get the picture. With apologies to Fight Club. Hence the reason this is all a few months late. I didn’t want to be taken outside and lined up in front of a firing squad for Talking About Gardening Leave.
But believe it or not, I have actually been doing some gardening! Really, truly and honestly! You see, even though I have a windowbox as a garden, Wonderful Man has A Garden. Well, I say that now because you can actually see it now. But when I started, you couldn’t. Honestly. In order to reveal his garden, I (we) donned protective gloves and armed ourselves with secateurs, and cut down an army of brambles. Some of them were higher than me! But as we clipped, chopped, snipped, yanked, ripped and decimated these mighty Lords of Luna, a garden appeared. Little trophies, long since hidden, started to present themselves like jewels. A michaelmas daisy here, a hawthorn there, a budleia in the corner, and right in the middle, an amber bush. Too pretty.
We also revealed a pond! Albeit a very cloggy one filled with very large, smooth stones. Now, before I tell you this story (which isn't for the fainthearted) I should explain that Wonderful Man's garden backs onto a railway track. So you can imagine the shocked faces of the commuters to see me, clad in t-shirt and shorts, up to my thighs in the garden pond, lugging stones out. 'Twas a sight to behold. Wonderful Man popped open a beer and sat back to enjoy the view, and as for me, I got rather into it! By the time I had finished, three commuters had had minor turns and I'd evacuated a pile of stones the size of a mini. But the pond was clear! If a little shallower than it had been.
So now it's garden planning. Being a keen and recent devotee of The Good Life, and a huge fan of Hugh Hairy-Marketstall, and wanting to grow everything good to eat, I drove a hard bargain. Hence the left hand side and half of the back flowerbed will be turned over to rosy tomatoes, spinach, runner beans, sweetcorn, apples, strawberries, gooseberries, rhubarb, you name it I'll grow it. And the rest will be wildflowers, a butterfly haven.
Now....we haven't actually started planting yet. But we will. As soon as we've had a nice sit down on the deckchairs and poured ourselves a long, cool drink. Ahhhhhhh....the life of a gardener. Does it get any better than this?
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