Question; What’s the perfect new hobby for someone fully expecting the apocalypse, but with a solid core of optimism?
Answer: Gardening. Of course.
Bear with. Because the aforementioned optimistic apocalypse-expecter is me, and I have a rational* explanation.
*There’s a possibility it’s rational in the way my Mum’s genes would dictate, rather than my Dad’s. That is to say, an explanation which makes you half close one eye and tilt your head sideways in order to make the pieces fit, but you have to concede that bafflingly enough they do fit.
So, back to gardening. Because what does an optimist think comes after the apocalypse? Survival! And, while I cherish my ability to craft Christmas decorations out of felt and can knit a mug muff with only two restarts and an array of four letter words, I’m not blinkered enough to consider these sought after transferrable survival skills.
Which is why I commandeered my green fingered friend and her daughter to help me pick plants, and then plant them out in my commandeered work-based veggie plot. Now, there’s a transferrable skill. If there’s anything left worth commandeering…
I’ve had my boss helping me shift soil in his dress shoes, inadvertently helped by the client who didn’t turn up and gave me a spare half hour. I’ve also had another lovely lady bring in plants to add to my collection, and countless tips from clients who are daft enough to even mention gardening to me. Yep, we’ll get to your back pain, but first tell me about your slug repelling techniques.
Unfortunately when I was actually shifting soil and digging in plants I scratched my arm and haven’t stopped whinging about it since. Maybe that’s something pre-apocalypse me could work on. Who wants to be the whinger who gets eaten first because they’re so annoying? Ha! Not me. I’ll be too busy preparing the side salad for that poor sod.
True, I’ve only ever grown strawberries before, and ok maybe they survived in spite of me rather than because of me. But I have faith in this venture. I’ve no other options really. I have zero sense of direction. I got lost on a loop walk last weekend. A LOOP! And while my medical skills might diagnose a sprained ankle, that’s about as far as they’ll take me. Apart from that I don’t think ‘ravaged group of survivors searching for the last pockets of civilisation’ holds many other job opportunities.
No, my main concern now is facing my Mum if I’m successful. Having spent years steadfastly neglecting (murdering) any greenery left in my care for more than a few days, she’s going to be so cross if I suddenly produce a thriving vegetable garden. However, as I’m already involved in a minor skirmish with some unknown critter nibbling on my green beans, I probably needn’t worry too much.