I've been spending a lot of time in the garden in the last couple of weeks. It's my first garden in a long time, and I have no idea what I am doing. I guess you just pick it up as you go along. We had no idea what plants were going to emerge this year but the previous occupants seem to have had a penchant for "cheerful" flowers (red tulips, daffodils etc). Sadly, a whole year of neglect has meant that a lot of the existing pots got full of weeds, so I've been replacing them and taken the opportunity to get some more exotic-looking things.
Gardening makes you hot and sweaty. It hurts your hands and your back. And it makes you a bit neurotic - I didn't used to even notice all the bird poo on the paving slabs, but since they've been redone, I take those black and white splashes as a personal affront. I like having the birds in the garden, but I wish they'd establish a proper toilet somewhere and stick to it. I've bought a scrubbing brush and started scrubbing it away. Is that over-the-top?
Still, once I'd finished planting and sweeping and scrubbing, I got out my table and chairs and had a big piece of cake in the garden while reading a magazine. And it suddenly seemed worth it. It's like having an extra room to your house, but with better lighting. And bird poo.