Welcome to my garden here in south Bristol, England.
How did it all begin?
Well in the late 80s I was working for a northern local authority, when one night I found myself writing a report at two in the morning. Living alone it was too easy to carry on working. Partly to fill the time, and partly because there was no one to say, "when are we having dinner. Or shouldn't you come to bed now."
I obviously needed a hobby. Something that would stop this insidious slide into workaholism. The idea came to me that if I bought a small greenhouse and planted some seeds I would at least feel obliged to water them.
That first summer was so successful. The Courgettes so vigorous they almost seemed to be pushing me out of the greenhouse.
One day my boss came round and asked what was growing in the compost bin. "Nothing as far as I know" I replied. "Well," he commented, "I wish I could grow things as well deliberately, as you seem to be able to do by accident."
Emptied some weeks later, the compost bin yielded 5lb of Potatoes. Grown, presumably from some discarded peelings.
After that there was no looking back. Perhaps it was inevitable given that both my parents were addicted gardeners.
A couple of years later
I moved south. Bought a terrace house with a garden. When I arrived there was a lawn, a small area of overgrown shrubs and a formal border alongside the path and a rather dilapidated shed against the south facing end wall.
Gradually the garden changed. A greenhouse was planted on part of the old lawn. Currant bushes c appeared where the rest of the lawn and the shed had been. An old bath hidden under a framework of barbed-wire and tufa became a small pond. The long border turned into a raised bed built from long round logs. Potatoes, Cabbages and Onions grew in this bed.
A second similar bed took shape opposite the greenhouse door and became the herb bed. A trellis with an archway over the path had jasmine and roses climbing up it and separated the veg and fruit from the shrubbery.
The log beds however did not prove durable and the path and concrete around the house began to break up. One autumn day about eight years ago I nearly took a tumble when I found that the long bed had partly collapsed over the path. Something had to happen if I was to go on safely and enjoyably gardening.