I work as an assistant head in a local secondary school, which I love, but it is all headwork. At home, I like to work equally hard, but in a physical way. It focuses the mind. I am not interested in going to the gym and running on a treadmill, but I enjoy the monotonous tasks of weeding, digging and wheelbarrowing, not to mention my chainsaw work and wood chopping.
I have a massive log pile. I’m told the Swiss take their wood piles seriously; it’s all about reserves and how long they will last. Wood years are a measure of manliness. I am at two and a half: that’s how long it would take our wood-burner to get through. My supply has not all come from this suburban garden. I prune neighbours’ trees, scour Gumtree, and arborists in London are usually happy for me to help myself.
The process of bringing form and structure to this garden since my partner, Michelle, and I moved here three years ago has been backbreaking but rewarding. It has been destructive and creative. For a start, I broke up a shed base, a patio, a pond and a sunken garden, and removed three 10-yard skips of concrete. This left a large hole. My mate, who installs cycle hoops in public parks, came to the rescue, supplying me with the topsoil his company had dug out all over the capital.
After scratching back to zero, keeping only a beautiful 50-year-old magnolia and a pear tree, we started to plant. I wanted lots more fruit trees. We went to an apple-tasting day at Ken Muir’s nursery in Essex. Michelle chose varieties she liked and I had my own wish list of unusual fruit varieties. ‘Red Windsor’ is an apple with a cox-like flavour, ‘Honeycrisp’ is wonderfully scented. ‘Doyenné du Comice’ is meant to be the prince of pears; we’ve got a ‘Sunburst’ cherry and a ‘Denniston’s Superb’, a gage-type plum, too. We selected all minarette trees, which are vertical cordons that can be grown as little as 2-3ft apart. They were planted as bare-roots last winter, and I will let them grow to 6ft tall, so they gradually form a hedge along each side of the plot.
My favourite spot
At the end of the garden, where the tree canopy from Forster Memorial Park encroaches, I have made log seats around a fire pit. If we are not in front of the wood-burner indoors, we are there. Rare is the day the central heating goes on.
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