Theresa Talbot's Easter Confession

You know I always say spring is among my top four favourite seasons, well I'm going to stick my neck right out here and say it's definitely up there at number one. I mean, what's not to like? The weather is warmer, colour is starting to burst out of every bud and nature's alarm clock in the form of the dawn chorus is the perfect way to wake up every morning. And if you don't have a garden, you needn't miss out. Just take a walk down the street, pending where your constitutional takes you, you're bound to pass dozens of front gardens bursting with promise, or a dandelion poking through a crack in the pavement, or even a spectacular buddleia sprouting forth from a derelict building. Let's face it; the whole world is our garden if we want it to be.

However, this new growth in the garden brings with it a sense of urgency. There's a fear that if we don't get everything planted, pruned, weeded and sown, it'll be too late and we're snookered until next year. But gardening should first and foremost be enjoyable. I know this is hard to believe at 2am when you're out in your goonie and wellies, torch in hand, desperate to find those pesky slugs feasting on your precious hostas, while trying to balance an umbrella between your neck. Or when you plant that fabulous fragrant rose bush you've cosseted for years, only to get up the next morning and find the local fox/cat/jealous neighbour has dug it up and left it in a wilting pile on the lawn, but just love your garden and it'll bring untold pleasure and rewards.

vegetable garden

When I was wee, only posh folk had well-tended gardens. Posh folk with no weans. Their plots were regimented rows of dahlias and hybrid tea roses, neatly under-planted with carpet bedding. And these gardens were often forbidden zones as far as children, footballs and mad dogs were concerned, all three of which our family had in abundance! And it was from our muddy quagmire that was used as a football pitch (Australian Rules) for ten months of the year, that I first set eyes on Mr Reilly's vegetable plot.

It may sound like something from Beatrix Potter, but I swear, as a 4 year old I was gob-smacked at the neat rows of lettuce, beetroot, peas, beans and dark green curly stuff with red bits that I think must have been chard. I'm not a naturally jealous type, but I have to say I was beelin'! For those of you not familiar with that particular Glasgow term, it just means seething with anger or envy. And as I climbed the fence, trowel in hand, caring not a jot for the danger ahead, I decided our garden could be just as nice. I'm mortified to say this, and even now my face is crimson with shame at what followed: I pinched Mr Reilly's veg. But please understand, this wasn't just some random act of vandalism - oh no - because what I nicked I re-planted in our garden. Alas, my first foray into guerrilla gardening had one flaw. Well, it had many flaws, but the main one was the scene of the crime was in full view of everyone. Our Australian-rules football pitch was now strewn with badly-planted, wilting greens, and I was up to my elbows in mud. It was a no-brainer, I was clearly the culprit.

Thankfully Mr R was a right decent type, and claimed to even see the funny side of it. I don't know if I would be quite as understanding today. Needless to say my Mother was mortified, and feared I would turn out to be a master criminal. But as I said at the beginning, Easter is with us once more, and a time for re-growth, new beginnings and forgiveness. So Mr Reilly, I know I said it once before, but publicly I'd like to say it again. I'm sorry!

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