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The art of doing nothing
Nurture precious green spaces around and inside you
I scramble over boxes that have been sitting in my office for 14 years and counting. I am looking for external hard drives with garden photos on them, the older the drive, the bigger it is, like I’m peeling back the layers of me.
It soon descends into a farce of swearing at inanimate objects, a stapler that looks at me the wrong way, a roll of tape that sticks to my backside. I knock over a pile of gardening books, a mountain of magazines, and crush something underfoot that squeaks. Thankfully, it is an old, deflated balloon. I shout downstairs to Carol, ‘Will people stop using my office as