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I’m having to say goodbye to my weekly gardens at the end of the month. I’ve been offered a peach of a writing job which I can’t really say no to – but something has to give, and it’s the gardens that must go, sadly.

Not that I’m giving up gardening – no sir. I’m still doing my “big” gardens – those projects I’m working on involving an element of design or re-working. And then there’s my own garden, which I’m cooking up a scheme for – involving more exotic plants than I strictly speaking ought to give houseroom for (but I just want to have a go at growing them).

It’s a great opportunity for me, but I must admit to a bit of sadness as I trim hedges and weed borders for probably the last time. You get to know gardens intimately when you spend hours every week there – and you kind of forget they’re not yours. So it’s a wrench to leave them (and I keep thinking things like “I hope whoever comes after me keeps up with the mulching…” or “I must do that overgrown Philadelphus before I go or it’ll never get done”.

It’s hard to let go.

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