I often wonder what it is that decides when someone will become a gardener and someone else won’t. Is it in the genes? Or is it conditioning? This is my theory about me.
In my young years, lunchtime involved “Watch with Mother” on the TV: 15 minutes of programme aimed at us pre-primary school kids (and, indeed early primary school kids as it finished just in time for me to skip round the corner to school).
On Mondays, we had “Picture Book“, stories and simple craft things that we could make without glueing ourselves to the wallpaper. And a dog.
On Tuesdays we had “Andy Pandy“. We also had “Andy Pandy” on Thursdays. I preferred Thursdays because they were spent in the garden whilst Tuesdays were always indoors.
In between our double-dose of “Andy Pandy“, we had “Bill and Ben“. This was real gardening. And they spoke the language of real gardeners. Unintelligible gibberish.
The week was rounded off with our Friday episode of “The Woodentops“. This was our dose of agriculture for those who wanted to go that bit further than mere gardening.
So I had gardening in my pre-school curriculum on two days a week and agriculture on a third.
Then, there was the work element.
And as I got a bit older, I began to enjoy our little garden.
And then I got my own little bit of ground.
Eventually I got kicked out of the house for committing no other offence than growing up. I got my own postage-stamp garden. Eventually I got an allotment. Then I moved to my present garden (with house attached).
And suddenly realised that I am a gardener.