As a gardener, we have our good days and our bad. However, once in a while the gods spin the dial, and something sublime happens. No, I didn’t win the lottery. No, the meaning of life isn’t growing in my pumpkin bed. And no, Walt Disney isn’t looking for a gardening Jedi to wield his hoe-lightsaber in the next Star Wars film.  Today, I discovered I have two melons growing in my polytunnel… ‘Ohhhh Matron!’ 

Granted, this won’t advanced mankind, it won’t bring about world peace, but what it has done is put a bloody big smile on my face.

And that’s what it’s like for us gardening types, rejoicing in the small victories. From digging over a bed, to harvesting the first sprout, they should all be celebrated.

We all have our weekly battles: bills to pay, going to a job we don’t like, public transport  hassles and the invasion of personal space. As we push through the week, it’s hard to ignore the weight on our shoulders and the constant internal sighs of despair. So when the weekend does come, just those few hours, taming a small patch of land can do so much for the soul.

This week, while dealing with the monotony of my day job, my mobile phone pinged. On opening the text, I was greeted with a series of photos from my Dad: his prize onions, a crop of apples and a harvest of plums from his plum tree.

Have I told you about the plum tree rivalry between Father and Son yet? Each year, for some reason, my Father takes great pride in letting me know about the overwhelming plum harvest he gets compared to my plum famine. I’ve been growing my tree for four years now, and this year we have a record number of plums growing on it… three.

Still… wait ’til I show him my melons.

So while the hair gets thinner, and the man boobs get bigger, one thing middle age can’t take from me is my melons (TWO!). Bring on the week!