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I don’t think my garden could look any worse. The borders I left to rot into themselves have tumbled all over the lawn, the patio is covered in pigeon poo, and there’s now a temporary cardboard compost bin outside my back door because the real bin

Oh snow, where were you in London on Christmas day? Why are you here now, hampering our efforts to burn off mince pies through brisk gardening? There's nothing I can do in my garden, except ponder when the compost heap will start breaking down again