I recently had to admit to being a ‘seedaholic’.  It wasn’t hard to come to this realisation.  For weeks I’ve had boxes of seed packets arranged on the dining room table waiting for me to sit down and go through them.  I’d already done my big order for the year but hadn’t fully catalogued what I’d got left over from previous years.   The boxes got pushed around, temporarily moved out of the way but always made their way back to be greeted by much eye-rolling by the Prof and much embarrassment by me.

So finally this week, I dived in and began my catalogue; it wasn’t long before my affliction became clear – 12 packets of carrot seeds; 15 packets of salad seeds; 2 packets of radish seeds and I hate radishes; and the list goes on!

It’s not even that I’ve been out and bought them all but I just don’t seem to be able to say NO.   I’m a seed magnet – friends and family bring me their stray packets and I’ve never turned one away yet.  The dining table mess is the clear result of my non-existent will-power.

I’m not sure what the road to recovery looks like but I know that the first step is admitting I have a problem…so here goes….’my name is Pen and I’m a seedaholic’.

This realisation led to me to think of other afflictions that are unique to the gardening fraternity – the Prof had a lot of fun with this game and eventually had to be banned from playing as my self-esteem began to suffer – here are just a few:

Stiff-as-a-Board Syndrome
These are the usual physical ailments that plague most gardeners including bad backs and creaky knees.  Even the youngest and fittest can feel ‘done-in’ after hours of double-digging or weeding.  Gardening can make our bodies feel years older than they actually are, as we hobble around clutching our backs and groaning.

Cliptomania
This is more of a mental disorder that involves secreting ‘snips’ and small plastic bags in pockets when visiting other gardens in order to furtively take cuttings for propagation at home.

Lost-track-of-time-atitis
I’m just closing up the polytunnel , back in 5 mins…..or I’m taking the caddy to the compost heap, back in a minute…..and before you know it, it’s dark and the family have reported you missing to the local police.  Sufferers may find that side-effects diminish with time as family members soon lose interest in your absence and carry on life without you.

Delusions
Is it just me or when visitors come to admire your garden do you find yourself saying ‘oh, you should have seen it last week’, or ‘it will look amazing in a week or so when the ‘x’ are out’.  Or my personal favourite ‘it’s getting there’…..none of my gardens have actually ever ‘got there’, instead they are perpetually on the way.

In fact ‘delusions’ is a pretty big category……we try and convince ourselves we can go to a nursery/plant sale/garden centre for inspiration only – ‘I’m just going to have a look’ is the common refrain.  And then we try and hide the plant/seeds/tool in a handbag or pocket or worse give it to friends to carry and pretend it belongs to them.

We simply can’t understand why others can’t understand our need to have:

• Multiple seed and plant catalogues and gardening magazines, all of which cause great excitement when they appear through the letterbox.
• A garden twine of every colour of the rainbow.
• A garden plan that somewhat exceeds the reality of the space we have to play with – who says we can’t recreate Piet Oudolf’s Millenium Garden, Christopher Lloyd’s Great Dixter or even the Hanging Gardens of Babylon in our own gardens?
• Four different courgette plants even though an average family can barely keep up with the yield provided by one and mutiny is threatened when yet another bizarre recipe is presented for dinner (ditto for runner beans).

Melancholy
Quite simply put, I’m miserable when I’ve not been out in the garden for a few days.  At the first sign of good weather after days of gales, the Prof literally bundles me into the garden and won’t let me back in until I’ve had a ‘good run around’ and left my ‘grump’ at the end of the garden.  I know I’m not alone – many gardeners soothe their aching souls during the winter by pouring over seed catalogues and planning their year ahead.

Poor Personal Hygiene/General Neglect
My gardening wardrobe is, I’ll admit, pretty appalling.  As much as I’d like to recreate the whole Alys Fowler ‘tea-dress and cardie’ look, I live in Scotland and that’s probably only feasible two or three times a year.

I like to be comfy when I garden and generally that means my favourite tatty pink jumper (I’ve worn through both elbows) and some muddy jeans.  I did finally discard one pair after inadvertently giving the postman with an eyeful (a small rip in the ‘seat’ took a giant turn for the worse!).   He’s recovering nicely after a short spell in a sanatorium.

I finish off my assemble with some Muck Boots (fabulous warm waterproof wellies that could be used in a lunar landing) and a fleece hat.  I’d give Wurzel Gummidge a run for his money but I’m always warm and I’m always comfy.

My hands are always dirty and my nails torn and that’s after lots of washing and scrubbing.  No amount of hand scrub or soap seems to be able to shift the ingrained dirt.  I try to wear gloves but I’m very much a bare-handed gardener; I like to feel the earth and my plants.  I could be considered a disgrace to the fairer sex, if I gave two hoots that is!  I do have to remember that the Minkey gets embarrassed when I pick her up from school with mud on my face – less ‘yummy mummy’, more ‘crummy mummy’.

These are just a few of the afflictions I came up with …..are there any others you can think of?