BUY me a hairnet and post off my subscription to the Reader's Digest. Old age has come early and I have got into gardening.

Now I know that after the recent baking revelation this will come as something of a shock. I might even be in danger of losing some of my finely gained credibility amongst the fair people of Bolton.

But hey, when you get a hankering for green wellies and a big bag of compost, what's a girl to do?

Now before I go on I must confess that so far in my life I haven't displayed much evidence of having green fingers. Like anyone who has been in university accommodation I have, at least twice in my life, bought a lush leafy plant to brighten up my cell only to have it die of thirst and depression a few weeks later.

Murderous behaviour, I know, but I see it as revenge. Once when I was 10 I bought a cactus with beautiful pink flowers. When I got home I found out they'd been super-glued on. Never did trust plants after that.

But given that my mum makes Alan Titchmarsh look like Harold Steptoe in the gardening stakes I supposed that latent gene has to emerge someday. And so it was that I found myself in my back garden clutching a spade and attempting to overturn a plot of land that has last received some TLC when the Normans invaded.

And what sparked this life change? Was it because I had a hankering to be at one with nature, feeling the wind in my hair, the sun on my face, reaping the honest reward of an honest days work in the open air? Or maybe it was because I enjoy cutting worms in half with a great big spade?

Well neither of the above actually. It was because after several abortive attempts to catch some sun amongst old planks of wood, ripped crisp packets and a spare tyre (not very Feng Shui, I think you will agree) I realised that something needed to be done if I was ever to gain a tan this summer.

As a generally slothful type I really never realised that physical exertion could be so enjoyable (in fact after a particularly humiliating aerobics class back in the early nineties I have made it my business not to work up more than a light sweat under any circumstances). But now I think I might be converted to the gardening world.

Digging the garden with my mum (what, you think I'd tackle it on my own?) was a really companionable experience and the achy muscles that followed reassured me that we'd done a good days work.

It is early days yet but I've already got my creepers planted, a herb garden planned and - when the turf gets laid - a prime spot for a comfy sun lounger.

Now, I wonder, might it be too late in the year for me to plant flowers and see them bloom? Not to worry. I'm a resourceful type of girl. Now, I must just pop out for some superglue...