According to Wikipedia, a ‘Plantsman’ is an enthusiastic and knowledgeable – albeit it amateur or professional – gardener.

Hubby has grasped the ‘bull by the horns’ so to speak, and thrown himself into gardening head first, even trying his hand at salads, turning our small, but super-hot conservatory into a greenhouse for his babies and just like a doting father, stands daily oohing and aahing, protectively supporting them.

They say gardening is a therapeutic pursuit, offering physical exercise and a connection to nature. Feed your garden whilst recharging your soul. That’s all well and good until witnessing hubby groaning and struggling to get back onto his feet after kneeling down. It begs the question how good is this ‘pleasurable pastime’ treating him. I questioned if this activity actually suited the elderly, unfortunately his expletive response is not printable.

I personally favour a low maintenance gravel garden, but hubby loves to see colour spreading throughout his domain and I am wondering whether he is regretting purchasing over 100 bulbs recently, but as Hercule Poirot would say ‘if the little grey cells are not exercised, they grow the rust’. So, lettuce grow together, I know I know, I can’t help myself – I can now explain to hubby that he is green thumbed and not under the thumb!