Tomatoes

Now I don't like to boast, but I fully intend on doing so. For yesterday, July 2nd, at 3:55pm I popped the first of this year's tomatoes into my mouth.

Now I realise most of you will have pathetic little half-growths of spindly spurs and unpricked sideshoots, but don't be too hard on yourselves (apart from Catherine who failed to even get that far). It's an art and a science. A gift and a calling. For every Adonis there's a barrel of fat men who couldn't pass muster.

We can't all be green-fingered, horny-handed sons of the soil. It takes dedication, application and perspiration. Plus you haven't tried my carefully-developed and fully-patented technique of cramming as many plants as possible into the greenhouse and leaving them to fight it out.

I am king. I am a gardener's delight. I doth stride the back-garden like a colossus with my faithful disciple "cat-who-sleeps-on-lettuce" as always by my side. I shall not rest until cherry tomatoes are on every menu from now until the jumps season.

And for those who said it couldn't be done, armed with just a silver trowel and a misting-gun, I say peasants, look on my works and weep.
Take that Titchmarsh. Jog on, Monty Don.

How d'you like them apples....