My Embryonic Gardeners

I'm holding onto my hat as I'm about to hit the Terrible Twos with my youngest. I'm already discovering that he certainly takes after his father and brother when it comes to matters of shopping.

But no matter. Now I have some, admittedly very small, borrowed wheels it means the younger two and I can go shopping! To garden centres! Yes, this is a measure of how desperate I am for the latest packet of seeds (carrot tape and rocket in this case) and sundries (eight foot canes) that I will suffer the inevitable ritualistic humiliation that is Shopping With A Toddler.

With a spring in my step I took them to my local garden centre where we, all right I, oohed and ahhed at the size of their courgettes and with admirable restraint came away with just an extra packet of seeds (chard) that hadn't been on my list.

While we stood happily amongst the veggies and herbs, the children touched the leaves and chatted to the backdrop of the chuckles of a passing elderly lady.

"Oh," she said, "look at those embryonic gardeners."

Which gave me warm and fuzzies and made up for the subsequent and inevitable tantrum over a tractor parked outside the garden centre.

I do hope they develop a love for plants and growing green things. I think I may have sown the seeds of love. As we left, and without any prompting whatsoever from me, honest, my three-year-old asked to "go to the 'lotment now."

So that is exactly what we did.