I'm not much of a gardener, being inherently idle. I like loafing around in the sun 'on the back way' as the Northerner in me says but on the whole I can't really be bothered to put any effort in. I can admire a nice garden, of course, and every so often I make a raid on B&Q or Haskins Garden Centre, spend a good few quids on stuff and sometimes I even get round to planting it.
Spurred on this evening by Big Man's jeers of 'you'll never plant it, it'll go the same way as last year's' I went into the garden, accompanied by Otto, and repotted a lavender tree, a lavender bush and two clematis that I bought the other day.
Whilst I was out there I uncovered a puny catmint bush from last year. I say
bush - it's more the size of one of those little scabby tinfoil-wrapped sprigs
of lucky heather that tinkers thrust wheedlingly at you on a Saturday afternoon
in the city centre. Otto spotted it and, despite ignoring it all last year, had
a good old chew on the leaves.
Otto got high. He's currently sitting outside the back door, staring
intently at the garage wall, face about 6" away from it. Typical stoned
behaviour I'd say.