The boy loves the gardens of Ireland, while I risk getting my fingers burned…
At my in-laws’ house in Dublin, my son has more space than he knows what to do with. He runs with abandon through their garden, dutifully helping his grandad water the plants (by upturning a watering can over them) and clean his shoes (method the same). We never think about how hemmed in we are in London, but are reminded here, since their garden is much bigger than our own outside space back home, which is a chopping board-sized rectangle of cement in front of our house, mostly taken up by wheelie bins.
It seemed boring at the time. I don’t believe I voluntarily looked at a tree until I was 25
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