boots classI’d like to say that I’ve finally buckled  down to some revision, in light of my impending RHS exam.

I’d like to….but I can’t.

Mind you, I’m not sure that even the tutor is entirely focused on the matter.

Last week, instead of a class we went to look round the grounds of a very posh private school where one of my fellow students is a groundsman.

Some of the other students were  prettty cross at the timing of this “jolly” so close to the examination. Others may well have been cross afterwards because it was, well, a bit crap to be honest.

Apart from a couple of Wellingtonias there wasn’t really a plant worth looking at.

The groundsmen tend the grounds (including a nine hole golf course and more cricket pitches than we have decent players of the sport in the UK) and the gardens proper are the preserve (as in pickle and jam I reckon) of an octagenerian former caretaker who won’t let anyone else help.

So what were they like?

Like they had been looked after for years by some old dodger well into his eighties with limited gardening knowledge.

Add to that a debate with an idiot about whether a Victorian water feature was a 17th century Italianate water garden, and it all slipped from fairly pointless into wholly farcial.

Only those sad sacks who are interested in how the incredibly rich educate theirsprogs would have found it of any worth.

Me, I’ve got an exam to pass – and this didn’t help.