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*Cough*
Hello, my name's Shelley and I'm a seedaholic.
I just can't help it. I see those hanging packets and I'm drawn to them. Do they have different varieties? Special offers? Do I fancy trying a new vegetable? Do I have room for some more seed trays?
It doesn't matter where we are - B&Q, local garden centre, supermarket. I've just got to look at the seeds.
It doesn't matter if I've got 5 different varieties already (like my tomatoes), or even if its only me who will be eating the broad beans I've planted.
It's the anticipation of what you'll get out of the packet, and that after you've planted, you'll check the soil every day, and talk to the seed trays. It's the excitement of seeing the little green shoots pushing through the soil and getting bigger.
The worry is a problem though. What if they don't grow? What if they get eaten? Where will I put 25 pepper plants? Which bed has space and where shall I put them? Are they too dry? Are they too wet? Is it too hot? Too cold? Have I got enough room on my windowsill? In the kitchen? In the greenhouse?
It's worse than being an alcoholic, because in the morning you can remember the shopping spree, the gleeful collection of colourful packets in your hands. You can remember the frantic rush for seed trays and compost, the filling of the watering can, pushing the seeds under the compost gently and firming the soil over them. The bank balance. Your partners face as he sees you hiding another variety of lettuce, or pea.
Your guilty hands, covered in soil and with mud under the nails.
What an addiction! Anyone fancy a drink!?
Hello, my name's Shelley and I'm a seedaholic.
I just can't help it. I see those hanging packets and I'm drawn to them. Do they have different varieties? Special offers? Do I fancy trying a new vegetable? Do I have room for some more seed trays?
It doesn't matter where we are - B&Q, local garden centre, supermarket. I've just got to look at the seeds.
It doesn't matter if I've got 5 different varieties already (like my tomatoes), or even if its only me who will be eating the broad beans I've planted.
It's the anticipation of what you'll get out of the packet, and that after you've planted, you'll check the soil every day, and talk to the seed trays. It's the excitement of seeing the little green shoots pushing through the soil and getting bigger.
The worry is a problem though. What if they don't grow? What if they get eaten? Where will I put 25 pepper plants? Which bed has space and where shall I put them? Are they too dry? Are they too wet? Is it too hot? Too cold? Have I got enough room on my windowsill? In the kitchen? In the greenhouse?
It's worse than being an alcoholic, because in the morning you can remember the shopping spree, the gleeful collection of colourful packets in your hands. You can remember the frantic rush for seed trays and compost, the filling of the watering can, pushing the seeds under the compost gently and firming the soil over them. The bank balance. Your partners face as he sees you hiding another variety of lettuce, or pea.
Your guilty hands, covered in soil and with mud under the nails.
What an addiction! Anyone fancy a drink!?
How can I tell, at what age will she need support?
. It's got to be a drink OR the chocolate! 
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