I LIKE to think that I am a proper gardener, by which I mean that cataracts and hurricanoes have to spout until they drench our steeple (we live next door to the church) before I am coaxed inside for tea. However, although I can be stalwart if a task needs finishing, in truth I would so much rather work in the garden with the sun on my back and a gentle breeze playing about my hair. We all
