People leave jobs all the time, I’ve left loads of jobs. That’s the thing with gardening, it’s fairly transient. I will always garden, some gardening jobs seem more permanent than others, but we are all replaceable.
I always thought I would leave the Walled Garden feet first, or at least be composted there. But, apparently not; unless you know something I don’t, I’m still breathing.
It was a wrench to leave, I could have been persuaded to stay, but that didn’t happen.
So my last day came and it was emotional, Ms Can-Do and I avoided eye contact, although she did give me a montage of some of my sane, and less sane, times in the garden, M and I avoided swearing, Jon ate my cake.
And we were joined by my very good friend and hero, Captain Q.
We met at the Walled Garden, and he has become something of a fixture in my life.
Dear old Captain Q sees the world a little bit differently, and, I have to say, better than quite a few others.
He came in, he swept the leaves from the box hedge which we shouldn’t have been clipping in direct sunlight, but I won’t go there just now.
Sorry, back to Captain Q: he had said we were going to have a good final session. And we did.
At 4 o’clock, it was time to go, it was just me and Captain Q, I wanted to say a quiet farewell to the garden.
That’s when Captain Q asked me what I wore to his Mum’s funeral service. What food I ate after the cremation. Who I sat with in the pub on that day. Did I wear something purple.
In the whole scheme of things, me getting a bit maudlin about taking my leave from a garden seems a bit daft.
Captain Q, my wise young friend. My grounding.
I better find another job where we can work together soon. Oh, and somewhere we can take Sprout.
I don’t think the new gardener has a dog, we all know Sprout is irreplaceable.