As much as I enjoy the postman handing me a fat envelope rattling with seeds, even more personal is a visit to my local emporium ‘The Handyman’. Ollie cheerfully weighs out my onion sets while I toss peas and beans into crackly brown paper bags. Along with three bags of seed potatoes I am optimistic that I can feed my family for months from my haul. In fact looking at the diverse potpourri of stock on the shelves I need hardly shop anywhere else, ever again.
They’ve got pellets to feed the chickens,
pans to boil an egg,
wool to knit a warm balaclava,
paint to decorate the bedroom,
nails to secure broken roof tiles,
a china robin to sit on the mantlepiece,
a broom to sweep away the cobwebs,
candles for powercuts,
and a purple wheelbarrow to push it all home in.
But no chocolate.