Gardeners are a bit like ostriches. They spend their days with their heads in the ground and their backsides up in the air. If they are into big flowery herbaceous borders, they will spend their time weeding, dividing and transplanting their precious poppies, peonies and penstemens.

And despite every promise they make to themselves and their long-suffering families, if they live on a farm every couple of years they will add a few extra metres to the garden and make even more work for themselves. And then, lo and behold their back gives in and gardening is out of bounds.

That’s more or less what happened to me three years ago when I was diagnosed with severe osteoporosis in my spine. I remember the consultant asking me what my hobbies were. It was a short list. Gardening. That’s all I was interested in.