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there is not much life in it. In summer the weed is alive with all sorts of wriggling larvae, nymphs and maggots, but now they have mostly descended into the ooze below.By Saturday it was all but empty when two frogs started splashing about in the murky dregs

, but as soon as her back is turned they're back. Aren't they always?I can't think of anything useful my dog actually does in the garden. Despite poodles being quite intelligent dogs and easy to train to do tricks, so far she hasn't taken to weeding. Watering

I was a contractor) I operate a policy of minimal digging. I will dig out weeds but I will not dig in manure. I prefer to let the worms and time do it for me. Provided the muck is well enough rotted then everything will benefit. I try not to bury

organic as I do have glyphosate (for paths and serious weeds) and a miraculous weedkiller that kills nettles and thistles while leaving grass unscathed - but that's about it. I find pesticides pretty unnecessary as I have only two insect problems: woolly

to use wire or plastic netting stretched horizontally and supported by posts about 60cm high. The plants then grow through the netting. All very well, provided that you don't need to do much weeding - preparation is all. However, gardeners are nothing

. Not one weed sprouts anywhere. As I sit and watch all the passers-by, my ears gradually become accustomed to the general hubbub and I slowly realize that, in fact, there are plenty of rustlings and twitterings from the denser growths.There are sparrows

of miniaturized people, buildings and landscape, they seem overly large, but this is just an optical illusion.There is a stark contrast between the Model Village garden and my own. The former is intensively managed - weeded, clipped, tidied, mulched and tilled

and weeds. Rosebay willowherb, tangles of flowering bindweed, brambles and bright-yellow ragwort. Profligate trees like ash and, in particular, sycamore crop up and create shady areas with the wrong sort of leaves that cause train operators so much trouble

It's blackberry time - not those machines, without which many "suits" would feel emasculated, but fat berries swollen by rain and aching for crumble. The blackberry bramble is a weed, and the perfect example of a plant simply growing in the wrong

of insouciance and even the weeds are just loitering about chatting. It has an after-the-party feeling: everybody lolling about on sofas with jackets and shoes off, and previously immaculate hairstyles dishevelled from too much dancing and one glass too many