A year or so ago, I inherited a cardboard box filled with plants. It was an offshoot from an enormous collection that belonged to a young botanist from Stockwell. He was about to be turfed out of the derelict building he lived in and hundreds of plants were being spread across London. I offered to rehome a few.
My only outdoor space is a window box, so most of the plants had to face life indoors. Some were happy; others withered. I enjoyed having them, though, so I replaced the dead and began a collection. My one-bed flat now contains more than 20 plants.
The window box is bursting with herbs — parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme. I’ve also added some mint. More knowledgeable friends tell me that it has aggressive roots and will soon turn into a despotic ruler.
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