We had snow last week, so my memories turned to summer, even though I know about the importance of living in the moment: my days are numbered, let’s enjoy all the ones that are left (no, I don’t have a terminal disease, but I’m not expecting to live for ever).

I’ve already mentioned I’m not a gardener. I’m not lazy exactly, just easily overwhelmed by the totality of the job that needs to be done. And I’ve had a couple of setbacks, including one that required evacuation, no doubt contributing to my ambivalence about the notion that anyone can garden. I don’t believe that about cooking either.

I’ve had helpers in various gardens over the years.

Some people put things in their garden you know!

Spurred on by one comment that some people put things in their garden you know, I decided last summer to start in a small corner that’s elevated enough so I didn’t even have to bend far.

There is lunacy in planting in January, in 40 degrees C, but others must be doing it. Why else were they selling seedlings in the shop?

Maybe the fact the plants were on special should have been a clue.

As I was wandering around the garden centre looking for something colourful I ignored all the plants on my list (I have an actual garden plan) and ended up in front of a punnet of … what’s the name for goudsjeblommen again … oldfasioned marigolds.

An exuberant orange that clashes with my colour scheme of Mali brown, Marakesh red and linseed cream, marigolds bring back memories of helping in my aunties’ garden many decades ago.

I plant the seedlings before breakfast to avoid the sun, cover the soil with pea straw and water them in.

Too orange.

I’m not surprised, I’m actually not particularly fond of orange in the garden, so off to the garden centre again to buy some champagne coloured ones to plant in between.

Hmm. Still garish. But it’s at the side of the house and I’m the only person who’s likely to notice them.

Something is growing in my garden with intent. At last. I’m taking charge of my place.

Of course the difference between annuals and perennials means that now it’s time to do it all again.

I knew that.