Having caught an old episode of Sex and the City on satellite late one night, my husband joked that I was turning into the Carrie Bradshaw of the gardening world. Although there is no physical resemblance – apart from the fact that we both have blonde hair – By buying and collecting plants in the manner that Carrie does shoes and writing articles about our respective experiences, perhaps she and I, although worlds apart, are more alike than we realise. So to the horror of my husband (who after all was only taking a pop at my shopaholic nature), it began to dawn on me that maybe I ought to take my gardening persona a little more seriously and try and look the part.
So today I invested in a pair of Riggers. My mentor would be so proud. The Jimmy Choo of the safety footwear world and just as uncomfortable to wear (although perhaps a little heavier). To ensure my transformation is complete, my old tatty sweatshirt and jogger bottoms have been replaced by a pair of jeans and a new (to the garden anyway) hoodie – so very de rigueur. It’s about time I take this garden malarkey seriously and look the part!
And so, to tackle and reclaim a lost patch of a friend’s garden (hence my new-found preference for safety boots over my usual flip flops), tug of war with a rampant ivy that has overtaken a tree is swiftly followed by full body combat with fallen tree branches. An assault on a carpet of weeds and brambles follows and not a power tool in sight – girl power!
Three hours later and the transformation is complete, but not just of the garden it seems. A quick glance in the mirror confirms the truth. The job has taken its toll. My face and hands, despite gloves, are smeared with mud in manner of an army sniper’s combat uniform and Worzel Gummidge’s tatty head looks styled by Toni and Guy in comparison to my barnet. It’s not often that I need to brush my hair over the bath to catch the falling debris!
My husband now calls me Twiggy for all the wrong reasons. I understand from Carrie that camouflage is, like my daffodils, so last season. Needless to say Carrie and I have parted company and my jogger bottoms and paint spattered sweatshirt have been re-instated. I have come to the realisation that it’s me or the garden – we can’t both look good.