‘You need to do some some gardening, mumma,’ opines my two-year-old, disapprovingly, getting swiped by wet vegetation. Reminds of the little girl that walked past (while I was doing heroic weeding out of sight): ‘Looks like a jungle!’ Hushed tones. Sometimes I wander around with the secateurs, snipping at random greenery, while saying ‘Don’t pick up the big ants. Is that a big ant or a little ant? Oh, it’s a millipede. No, I don’t think millipedes like swimming. No, I don’t think the ants want to share their house with the millipede. They’re not very friendly. Why? They just aren’t.’ Snip, snip, snip.




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