With all this gorgeous weather hanging around, I seem to have changed my ‘reluctant’ gardener mindset into a persona, strangely resembling a bra-wearing Alan Titchmarsh. I have lawn stripes, trimmed edges and take a keen interest in my budding perennials. The children have invested some time in a herb patch – although convincing my son that planted chocolate drops a) won’t grow into a chocolate tree and b) are not herbs – will hit the memory bank as a lovely family event. We all crouched round a ‘patch’ of dry soil and pushed small fronds of plants into the ground and finished the job with handwritten lolly sticks, one of which says Parzlee in sparkly lilac pen. My daughter’s herbs were planted with consideration – in size order. My son’s were planted in a random circle so that they would grow into a football shape.

Possibly we’re all green-fingered at heart. It takes a while. I progressed from basic and emergency lawn mowing to bulb planting and then phoning grandparents for a list of ‘which plants won’t die if I ignore them?’ Gradually and with the willing efforts of the children (who are happier when they compete over who’s the muddiest), we have a ‘garden’. It’s a bit jumbled in the borders but in my head, the nicely arranged pots of bedding plants make us look as if we know what we’re.

My husband’s contribution is a manly stance twice a week with a long hosepipe. He ‘waters’ and approaches it with the ‘it’s my job’ mentality that our men show towards the summer BBQ – they hold the tools! Bless them. Our father’s day gift is sorted – a new hosepipe nozzle. Somehow, I think we may have discovered his guilty pleasure.