There’s no such thing as gardener’s block, I once read. This from, I believe, a famous writer who was making the point that if you’ve got writer’s block, you should just go and do something else for a bit. Point taken. There is no such thing as gardener’s block because if you get stuck doing one job, even in the smallest garden, there are roughly 10m other jobs you can be cracking on with. Which is quite right. And this is what makes gardening either the worst thing for you if – like me – you have attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), or possibly the best.
I stride into the garden full of purpose and ambition, with a smile on my face. Invariably, several hours later, I stagger out of there, aching all over, scratched, bloodied, filthy and demoralised, having dug, scraped, cursed and carried myself to physical and mental exhaustion. The clarity of purpose I have at the outset vanishes very quickly, along with my secateurs. In its place, as things that need doing proliferate around me like Japanese knotweed, there comes a confusion of purpose. Lots gets done a little bit, but nothing gets done properly. Nothing is finished. And it all looks a right bloody mess.
