As I stand in my kitchen looking at the giant gaping hole in my back garden, I can’t help but thinking: ‘What in the hell have I done?’
No, I haven’t murdered my husband.
Apparently, I’m looking at a vegetable patch. Let’s back track a bit.
I’ve always loved the idea of a vegetable patch and having a beautiful garden in general. My mum has the lovelist little yard, filled with flowers and lights and chimes. She’s transformed this space into a haven and I’m very jealous. Ciara has a vegetable patch and in the summer has home-made fruit cocktails fresh from her garden (not going to lie, this was a major selling point for me).
My auntie Kathleen and cousin Bronagh are the go-to guys for gardening and also have an amazing garden – complete with vegetables and fruit growing. Even though I ask questions about how I could do something like it, I’m not really listening to the answers because I know the dark secret I’ve carried around for years:
My house is where all plants come to die. There is no exception to this rule.
So, the vegetable patch idea – like all my hobbies I take up and hide shamefully in a cupboard when I’m bored of self improvement and want to go back to Netflix – was just something I like to think about.
In my cupboard of shame I have 18 balls of red wool from the time I decided I wanted to knit a throw for my living room (after ball two, I went to IKEA and bought one which was a lot easier), a sewing machine which has never been removed from the box despite throwing a hissy fit that would rival a toddler because I had to have it. You know, for all the cushion covers and patchwork quilts I was going to make – I quit my dressmaking course after week 3 because I was left alone in the corner still trying to set the machine up while everyone else was marking out their patterns. There’s broken picture frames that I’ve yet to ‘upcycle’ and craft things for when I print out the 4,000 photos on my phone and transform them into personalised photo albums and other nonsense that I’m never going to use/do.
BUT if Conor thinks for one second I’m prepared to get rid of one of these items to clear more space in the house then he might end up under the vegetable patch, yet.
Talking about the imaginary vegetable patch with Mum and Martin was the topic of conversation at dinner this week. The fountain of all knowledge (ahem), Martin, had a plan of action and was off to search for a spade. We laughed it off.
Friday night dinner chaos came as usual – with added birthday cake, so I was running around trying to get the table set up and chase my sister (not the kids) away from the sweets table. The usual shouting match with Dad was going on about what was happening for dinner and as I looked up out the window to see if the kids were playing, there was Martin.
Spade in hand and digging up the left hand side of my garden. Now, I can’t remember if everyone could hear the internal screaming that was so loud my ears could have bled, but they certainly saw the crazy woman run outside towards the crime, who was also screaming.
Oblivious to any of the sheer panic that was reverberating from every part of my body, Martin explained his ‘vision’ for this patch and assured me by Tuesday all will be ready for planting. I’ve a feeling a pair of gardening sheers and Martin’s decapitated head is going to put in the cupboard of shame soon.
So, please feel free to share any gardening tips or the number of someone who can concrete the lot. If we are going down the concrete route, give me time so I can empty the contents of the secret cupboard underneath it and stare at it nervously, Brookside style.