The Idiot Gardener

WARNING: This site contains information on gardening, brewing, curing meat,

building shit and hunting, all done in a piss-poor manner. It is not suitable for the

feeble-minded, the weak and lame, those of a nervous disposition, vegans and

vegetarians (and those other ones that only eat fish and the occasional bacon

sandwich - I think they're called 'hypocrites'), those who practice any

manner of folk singing or dancing, people named Colin or fans of Barry Gibb.

In Memory of Alan Titchmarsh

If there’s one nice thing you can say about Alan Titchmarsh, it’s … well … okay, I’ve got nothing. Alan came into this world a naked screaming bundle of smugness, and that’s pretty much the way it’ll be. But now is the time to pause, reflect and remember. Part of Alan has left us, and we should be glad of that. However, with a little bit of Alan dying, is the pain merely shifted to the gardening community? Has Alan’s legacy dragged us down? Has Alan become an albatross for us all? Has Alan got a good ‘cum face’? Who knows…


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