I’ve been watching some of the earlier ‘Life in a Cottage Garden’ episodes on iplayer. And I’ve decided that I would like Carol Klein to adopt me. She seems so jolly, so lovely and so, well, decent. I can’t help but feel that she would make a very good job indeed of looking after me. Pints of steaming hot Earl Grey and a mean, homemade coffee and walnut cake, I imagine. Hot water bottles and cocoa in winter; freshly squeezed lemonade and warm quiche fresh from the oven in summer. My dad might be a little perplexed by the arrangement but I think it for the best.
Don’t get me wrong, it wouldn’t be a one way arrangement. Oh no, Carol (Mummy), would benefit to. For a start I wouldn’t have let her go up that terrifyingly high ladder (episode 1) in order to tug off some entangled clematis. No way. I would have sent her husband up. (Terrible head for heights, myself). And I’d buy her some flipping gardening gloves. Doesn’t matter what she’s doing; weeding, pruning or digging up an herbaceous clump the size of a Pacific atoll – bare hands. Poor love. Her hands must be in a shocking state. I barely step out of the greenhouse without donning at least one pair of leather mits. And mine (cunningly designed by yours truly) steadily secrete hand lotion all day long. I wince when I see how little care Carol takes of hers.
Mind you, I do wonder what on earth she does with all those seeds she sows, plants she divides, self-sown seedlings she pots up and cuttings she takes. I know she runs a nursery but how big can it be? I imagine she must be the sole supplier of garden plants to the entire garden centre industry in the UK. If so, she must be worth a tidy penny. Adopt me, Carol. Adopt me.