A gardener’s Christmas
WHEN other workers are switching off their computers on the 20-something-th of December, slipping on their coats and, after knocking back a festive bevvy with colleagues, heading home through streets of winter rain to John Betjeman’s ‘pigeon-haunted classic towers’, the gardeners among us are only just beginning to feel the weight of responsibility that lies heavily upon our shoulders. Without us, you see, so much of the festive fare and fripperies would simply fail to materialise.
