So, I’ve never really blogged, or posted anything longer than a Facebook message online. Partially because I have always assumed that my attention span wouldn’t stretch that far, but mainly because of my inherent concern that whatever I write will be judged as boring; I could live with interesting people finding my blog boring. That’s because they’re genuinely interesting while I’m exactly as interesting as someone writing a blog, anonymously, on what I expect will mainly be vegetables and cake. However, I now also run the risk of being judged as boring by people who think that the dream they had last night is a conversation piece. For years, I couldn’t face that prospect.

It’s only been since the past two years or so that I have become increasingly gung ho about what other people think*. But as soon as you can start to see your way clear to overcoming uncertainty or insecurity, you should always run ahead and ram your way through whatever is holding you back. Hence, this blog.

ANYWAY. Let’s talk vegetables. I live in a tiny flat with no garden, but I have a windowsill that catches the sun nearly all day. Considering it has all the features of a conservatory (sun, glass, and a roof) it counts as a conservatory. I was born and raised in a city, and the only thing I ever planted up until now was an acorn, which I expected would grow into an acorn-tree overnight. It didn’t, and I never received a formal apology for this disappointment. But I didn’t let that stop me.

The first things I bought was two tiny capsicum plants and one cherry tomato plant, as well as a bag of compost which promised to grow my plants up to twice the normal size**. I checked the next morning, and it hadn’t. Again, no formal apology, but I didn’t write to the compost company to let them know (I know! It’s silly. What if they’d taken the complaint seriously and send me free compost for life? I’d be set. I could incorporate compost in more aspects of my life just to manage the sheer volume I’d have lying around. I’m sure my living room would be immensely improved by having compost wall decorations, and I’d never again have to worry about what to bring to a dinner party).

Moving on. Weeks passed, and despite my incessant staring the plants point blank refused to grow into something I recognised from the supermarket shelves. And then, one glorious day, a tiny version of a capsicum appeared. The tomato plant began to sprout cheerful blossoms, which promptly browned and fell off within the space of a day. During the second month, actual tomatoes began to appear.

My feelings at this time were of biblical proportions, in that I imagined that this is exactly what God would have felt like when he saw the results of his first day creating Earth. I can understand his feelings of sheer joy, and subsequent overenthusiasm in creating the rest of the world at such speed that the slap-dash results of his approach are obvious to anyone who feels inclined to visit, say, the Ardennes. I digress, but all I’m saying is that if God had slept on it for a night or two, the Ardennes wouldn’t be such a shithole.

Working on the basis that we should all learn from one another’s mistakes, especially if they’ve been made by God (who himself even recognised that drowning the whole planet wasn’t a good idea, and promised never to do it again), I decided to leave my plants as they were. I made this decision two weeks ago, and not much has changed apart from the stems bending over under the sheer weight of what must be abnormally big capsicums and tomatoes. If things continue as they are, in two months’ time I will have enough capsicums and tomatoes for one salad, and it will be the most delicious salad I’ll have ever had.

Next time, cake.

*This may have something to do with the fact that you tend to meet more people as you get older.

**Which just goes to show how vulnerable to marketing people like me are. I have no idea how big a tomato plant should grow, so how would I know if it had grown  twice the normal size?