I hate gardening with a passion, so I didn't bother with it. To give you an idea of the scale of neglect I perpetuated, the grass would grow to several feet in height and once a year - literally once a year - I would beg, steal, borrow or hire an industrial strimmer to attack my suburban Bristol jungle. One of the artier members of my youth group threatened to make a papier-mache giraffe head, to give the impression of the grass being even deeper. I wish she had got around to it, it would have looked fantastic.