tiny weeny


My effort at growing baby carrots wasn’t too successful. They seemed to grow very well, sprouting copious green fluffy leaves, but nothing developed beneath. Perhaps I failed to provide enough nutrition? I did use good potting soil mixed with my carefully gathered compost in the fancy Urban Composter. I know, I paid far too much money for that thing, bought on a crazy whim triggered by severe depression during the dark days while living in Kensington, enduring all manner of sensory anguish. The tomatoes seemed to appreciate the compost mix better than the carrots. (There must be some scientific reason for this, but I am an ignoramus in this area and I really cannot be bothered right now.)

Actually, my interest in balcony gardening has waned, ever since we moved back to Paddington, and a sense of wellbeing, calm and peace returned. I realise now that the pottering around, which began in the old terrace house and grew into a frenzied obsession in the other balcony at my Kensington university apartment, provided a benevolent distraction from the overwhelming stress that I was wrapped up in. In fact, it was a routine I very much looked forward to, and I spent a great deal of time with my plants then.

Tranquility has returned at last, after far too long a stretch running around like a headless chicken in a surrealistic nightmare. Lucy and I are back where we feel comfortable and comforted, and I now no longer need that little oasis of diversion. I plan to reorganise my balcony this Saturday – time to downsize and simplify, so I can concentrate better on what I truly love, and what really needs my attention henceforth: my Work!


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