When I blogged about not having anything to blog about earlier this week, some of you were kind enough to say that you're willing to tolerate posts about the Less Than Interesting stuff which is basically all that ever happens around here at the moment. This post is your fault. Nah, I'm just joking. See, the thing is, I've always kept journals. I got my first diary when I was ten, and each new year after that was marked by the opening of a brand new journal, in which I would meticulously document every tedious detail of my life, just in case I became famous one day and my biographers needed some info on what I had for lunch on the 16th of January, 1994, or something equally important. When I started this blog, I stopped keeping journals. There just didn't seem to be much point, when the blog was there to serve as the record of my life instead. But then, as I mentioned in my previous post, somewhere along the line the blog stopped being about my life, and so all of those little details were lost to the mists of time. What will my biographers do NOW, I wonder? Well, today I'm here to help them along, because in an bid to re-introduce some of the more personal/boring stuff to this blog, here is a novel-length post about my garden. You're welcome.