No plans today

No planning for the garden? Fine. Elsewhere, not so much...

I found them in the yard at the back of the shop, also known as Garden World. They weren’t the first plants I saw, but they were the first I wanted, needed, for my newly clear freestanding bath-turned-planter. A pair of tall fucshia, £6 each, their flowers dangling gloriously, their red and indigo transporting me to the gardens of my childhood. Next to them on the same aisle, at £2 each, pots of argyranthemum. They had no place at home. And yet here they were, five of them, clashing in the trolley with their soon-to-be flowerbed friends. They would be joining some begonia tubers and some trailing lobelia. Reds, yellows, blues, whites. Utter chaos.

Planning is something I always believed I was really good at. And in some ways, it is. I can arrange you a holiday itinerary down to the second, like the very best Japanese tour operator, and suck all of the fun out of it in the process. But since falling in love with gardening, I’ve realised that instinct and an absolute disregard for the rules is what I’m all about. In many ways, it’s the ultimate expression of my ADHD.

When I worked out what my front garden would look like, my son and I drew a bird’s eye view plan, with space for a pond, raised planting area and flowerbeds. I should have cleared it all in one go and then got on with the business of planting. But where’s the fun in that? I cleared some pebbles, lifted the weed suppressing membrane, dug out clay rich soil and lined the pond. Planted a hedge. Then removed another mound of pebbles, forgot about the membrane and put together my raised bed. I did what I felt like, when I felt like it.

The same was true with planting. Aside from the hazel hedge, everything was an impulse purchase from the garden centre, bought to plug holes with no thought much beyond whether they’d like nice. There is no reason here. I had vague plans for a purple, blue and white scheme, but the wild marigolds and spearwort have put paid to that.

The same is true with the bath. I walked into the garden section of Home Bargains and bagged what I fancied. And you know what? It’ll look good. I have no background in garden design. Being on my own patch, helping people with theirs, has been a huge salve, one I’ve missed greatly since breaking my leg. I have faith in how things will look simply because nature is, to coin a phrase, fucking lit.

That’s not to say I haven’t picked up skills and learned about soil types and what works well where. More that this haphazard approach is in keeping with how my brain is wired.

Since gardening became a central part of my life, I’ve noticed these more untamed tendencies creeping into other areas of my day to day. And not necessarily in a helpful way. My email account, which used to be given fastidious attention after years of being a shambles, has been allowed to fester. I currently have 1,856 unread messages. Some have been looked at, mentally noted and then forgotten about. I’ve got slack with writing work, especially anything vaguely organisational.

Naturally, being this free and easy with home life, too, helps no one. I’ll be the first to admit that my ADHD is a killer when it comes to staying on top of family plans, dates and school events. No, Joe, you can’t keep it all in your head. For years, I knew this, almost fighting against my more chaotic instincts. But for some reason I’ve gone with the flow and it’s not been helpful at all, least of all for my, you know, actual family. I believe the phrase is weaponised incompetence and yes, I’m guilty as charged.

The garden, my garden at least, is where I can channel these energies in a consequence free environment. Elsewhere, we’ve got problems. Strategies are required. And, as I emerge into the real world after eight solid weeks of rest and recuperation, it’s time I got to it.