Well. What a cracker of a morning. There I was, munching on a bit of toast, half asleep at the kitchen table, lazily flicking through the latest copy of Kitchen Garden - a magazine I’ve long adored, I might add - when something stopped me dead in my tracks. My book - yes, my little old book - smack bang on the Book Review page.
I’d love to tell you I stayed calm, composed, and dignified. But no. Instead, I let out a noise that can only be described as the unholy offspring of a yodel and a shriek. Lord Muck, peacefully attempting the crossword, jumped so violently he nearly spilled his coffee. (I say nearly because he has lightning reflexes. Never known a man to protect his caffeine or his beer so fiercely.)
You see, Kitchen Garden isn’t just any magazine. Oh no. This is the mag my Mum handed me a whole box of when I first decided to grow “a bit of veg” (a decision she met with an expression somewhere between mild disbelief and outright horror). That box became my bible. When I ignored all her advice - because obviously, every child always knows better than their mother - those magazines patiently coached me through every seed sowing and food gardening adventure.
LADY MUCK SENIOR & JUNIOR
Giggling at some of my growing mishaps, no doubt, when I was first starting out
I vividly remember that first bleak winter after I had decided to have a go at growing stuff - when the days were short, wet, and miserable. I’d curl up with those dog-eared magazine issues, poring over tips on watering (not too much, not too little—who knew plants were so needy?) and timing my planting (missed that one by a country mile more than once). By spring, I was armed with just enough knowledge to cause total chaos in the garden.
Fast forward to today, many years later, and there’s my book in the very pages that once saved my carrots from becoming compost. The thought of it bringing a laugh to seasoned gardeners - or dare I hope, some handy advice - to someone else starting out on their own chaotic growing journey? Well, it’s enough to make an old gardener weep. Or scream. Or, in my case, both, while Lord Muck quietly contemplates relocating to a less noisy household.
DREAMS CAN COME TRUE
“This gloriously funny book would make a great read on a cold winter’s evening and a great gift for the gardener in your life”
