My name is HappyMouffetard, and I have a problem...

They say that admitting you have a problem is the first step towards curing it. So, here goes... my name is HappyMouffetard and I am addicted to buying seeds.

It's not my fault, the pushers produce shiny catalogues, filled with so many promises. The rush of ordering on-line, the anticipation of the parcel arriving. The excitement of unpacking the parcel and reviewing all the different packets of hope. And, in the case of the package I got this morning, the joy of separating the hungarian rye seeds from the mangetout seeds, the packets of which had burst in transit.

Then, the fun of planting the seeds, the anticipation of the first hint of green appearing through the compost. But with the highs come the lows ... the devastating slug attacks, and when you go away at the weekend, only for it to be the hottest weekend on record, causing the seedlings to shrivel. And, even when you've carefully nurtured the little darlings, snail families take up residence in the cabbages, leading to ... well - I'll post the pictorial results of that little disaster tomorrow. Suffice to say, self sufficiency in red cabbage will not be happening this year.

Still, forced labour for Mr HM down the allotment tomorrow, and my wild over-optimism and enthusiasm will lead me to try planting a few lettuce 'Winter Density'. Mind you, a blue tit was cheerfully singing this morning, and if he thinks it's spring, then me planting a few seeds is a minor triumph of optimism over sense compared to his seasonal confusion.