Well I’ve been gardening.

I don’t have a garden though so I had to make one out of little seed trays from Poundland (I love Poundland).  I don’t really know why, but I had this increasingly strong feeling that I should plant vegetables and herbs.  Perhaps it was destiny.

I didn’t have any wooden lolly sticks to make markers so I hacked up one of the strips of wood from my collection of ‘scrap wood that might be useful for something’ (see earlier posts).  I didn’t have a Coping Saw so I used a bread knife.  And I didn’t have any regard for health and safety so I did it all cross legged on the kitchen floor, slightly blocking two doorways and the sofa.  Because that’s how I roll.

Then I painted the wooden labels in bright colours with my acrylic paints (well it was that or watercolour…) and began planting.

After I had planted each little seedy pot and the first layer of paint had dried on the plant markers, I carefully labelled what each plant was in black.  This took  ages.  I had a lot of seeds.  Damn you Poundland. I put the labels in and got up to take the finished seed trays upstairs to where they would live.

At which point I dropped them all on the floor.  The seeds mixed up and the markers flew everywhere into a big fat beautifully hand decorated mess.

I looked at my Manly Punk-Rocker type flatmate and his facial expression echoed mine.  We both wanted to cry.

But we didn’t because we’re too rock ‘n’ roll.

“Rarr. God dammit” I cursed, looking at the soil scattered into the carpet- an apt reflection of my shattered dreams.

“It’s okay, I’ll put them all back into random trays and we will call them Mystery Seeds” I said, cheerily, ever the English emotionless optimistic robot.  “It’ll be a surprise when they start to grow”.

As this was an enormous lie to hide the fact that I was crying inside, I gradually and laboriously re-planted and labelled a whole new tray of seeds over the next few days.  When they were finally done I put them where they were destined to be.  Near the only source of relatively natural light in the room.  Pleased with myself, I lovingly took them down and watered them regularly.

A few days later, they began to grow.

“Oh no!” I exclaimed.  I often exclaim things when I get excited.  “My vegetable and herb seeds have all turned into cress!”

Turns out that when seeds are at the first stage of growing they all look the same.  Like children.  Only they look more like cress.

And the cressish stuff is what gardeners call ‘SEEDLINGS’.


What an enjoyable word.

My lovely seeds were growing into vegetables and herbs.  Via cress.

Here’s a photo ❤

Now I know what you’re thinking, this story ends well.  I lived happily ever after with my home grown vegetables and herbs, well into my old age- where I eventually died in an olive garden/vineyard type place in Italy in the sunshine.

Oh how wrong you are.  There’s someone you forgot about from earlier on in the tale…

Over time, the Mystery Seeds became not only a symbol of the futility of my efforts, they became SEEDS OF HATRED.

After the infamous ‘Seed Dropping’ incident of 2012, I had put what was then termed the tray of ‘Mystery Seeds’ at the end of my bed, thinking I would deal with them later.

Later turned into tomorrow, and tomorrow turned into a few weeks time.  Now I must stress that at no point had I watered the Mystery Seeds.  I must also point out that the level of light in my room is comparable to a bat cave.  And from what I know about plants, they need water and light to grow…

More time went by and I continued my well meaning thoughts that I fully intended to dispose of the corpses of the Mystery Seeds.  But somehow each day brought a new, more important task which distracted me long enough to forget.

Until one day, something suddenly caught my eye. I looked down at the Mystery Seeds, and that was when I saw it.  All this time they had been up to something beneath that soil.  Sneakily sprouting little shoots of doom, as if to mock me as they grew ever stronger each day.

They had been trampled on and sat on several times by indignant housemates.  They had been without light or water.  And their very existence was a fluke- jumbled up floor seeds that had only been scooped back in to their tray so I could avoid looking sad.

Against all odds, what were effectively mementos of my failure had survived.  I can only assume that they feed off futility, gaining strength with every battle I lose- be it a battle with my own motivation to hang up the washing (often resulting in me having to wash the clothes again to get rid of the damp smell), or the futile daily battle to find some sort of existential purpose.  Perhaps my tears act as fertiliser?  Catalysing the growth of their twisted roots, enabling the Seeds of Hatred to suck any hint of a nutrient that may be lurking in the dry, dark soil in which they dwell.

I can tell you how this story will end.  And it’s not a happy ending I’m afraid.  The Seeds of Hatred will continue to double in size, until one day they will catch me off guard.  As I lay in bed, pondering the futility of existence (and indeed the futility of the pondering itself), they will begin to entwine me in their evil stalky grip.  I will be so deep in my own thoughts that I won’t notice until it is too late.  Eventually they will be everywhere.  Climbing up walls and binding the doors shut. 

In my last moments I will resemble Rapunzel after some kind of horrible hair dye disaster, with their planty shoots twisting all over the place like evil green locks of organic princess hair.  But no one will be able to see me looking all princesslike prior to my tragic death because the Mystery Seeds will have entwined themselves around the doors and windows.  And the last thing I will be able to see, through a tiny gap between the branches- will be a perfect tray of lovingly home grown and painstakingly hand labelled vegetables and herbs.