The garden is racing ahead and I’m trying to keep up. It’s its usual haphazard self – full of self-seeded colour around my not-so-bright ideas. (For example: I moved the camellia into a new pot two winters ago without considering that, yes, that spot does get the morning sun in April – and now all the blooms are the colour and texture of the paper bags that apples used to come in.) Potatoes, peas, radishes and salads are pushing through, and I must do something about the moss in the lawn.

Oh . . . and I succumbed to my rose urge. Twice.