My kids complain about me being a garden-aholic. They reckon I’m completely addicted to the thrill of extreme gardening, but I think they’re exaggerating. Sure, I like to spend a few hours in the garden from time to time, but it’s just a little hobby. It started with just a few whiffs of Seasol, before I got onto the harder stuff like Dynamic Lifter, but I hardly ever inhale, okay? Anyway,I think it’s character building for my kids to wait until 9.00 pm for any hope of dinner. Just because I’ve occasionally been caught weeding by torchlight doesn’t mean I have a problem. And when I tell them I’m going outside to do a quick job or two and then stagger inside three hours later with my hair full of twigs, a caterpillar hanging off my chin and my bra full of dirt … Well, come on, doesn’t that happen to everyone?