This weekend I spent 8 hours gardening after a summer, frankly, of horticultural neglect. This activity necessitated industrial amounts of weed killer, hedge trimmers, rake, shovel, wheelbarrow, bonfire, secateurs, tractor and lawnmower. Oh and the spaniel’s ball, squeaky toys and apples plucked from the tree and “helpfully” placed on top of whatever detritus I was attempting to put into an orderly pile. The garden now looks pretty damned presentable. I, however have an alluring Wurzel Gummidge appearance and seem to be wearing a significant proportion of what I cut from the garden in my hair, down my wellies and inexplicably, in my pants. I also appear to be broken. I can’t stand up straight or move my left arm above waist height. After a brief test run with a cup of tea, I can confidently state that my gin and tonic arm is unaffected.