I always seem to make life… how can I put this… ‘quirky’ for myself. Scratch that – let’s stick with darn right awkward.

I was pottering along quite nicely thank you very much. It all sounds rather twee, but I was enjoying going to work and had developed a new-found love of my neighbourhood. So, why did I apply for the new job? Probably because I never expected to get an interview.

Well, I did, and I got the job, and said ‘yes’. Trouble is, ‘work’ will now be in London.

The excitement of a career move was quickly tempered by the realising its impact on my life.

There will, at least, be the spectre of a few months of tortuous daily slog on the Oxford Tube.

But what was I REALLY going to miss? Then it occurred to me, top of the list is the plot.

In summer months, on a nightly basis, I trudge to the allotment to water, weed, pick and plant, sometimes just gaze.

I’m not sure whether this is good to admit, but it – genuinely – played a part in my decision-making. Perhaps it was emblematic of something unrelated to growing vegetables. Maybe.

Now let’s not get too schmaltzy, but in six years (ish) I have developed a knowledge and love for my patch of soil.

I have tried to wax lyrical a number of times about ‘man versus earth’, the need for modern man to get off his backside and reskill.

And seizing control of my own square of land has elevated me beyond, I believe, tubby sofa dweller and into the world of ‘men who do’.

The allotment. It’s a great pastime, but hardly a career breaker. But the thought of rogue ivy strangling my strawberry plants, or blackfly moving in on my beans while I’m sat on a coach, sends a shiver down my spine.

This means a new role for Barbara, who will have to step up.

None of the using the: ‘I saw a cow lying in a field on my way to work and thought it was going to rain’, as an excuse for neglecting watering can duties. As I am going to be encased in a metal two-deck jumbo bus for four hours a day, starved of sunlight, I need my fix of fresh fruit and veg.

But, I figure, it’ll also make the weekends and days off pottering all the more worthwhile.

Perhaps it will make me more committed?

Who knows? Life waits for no vegetable.