What is it with old people and gardening centres? In my experience, they absolutely love them.

The very nice neighbour took my grandma and the other very elderly lady in the cul de sac to a gardening centre this week for their lunch. I was delighted as I didn’t have to cook and grandma was very excited at the prospect of walking around a ‘proper’ garden centre. It was pouring with rain all day and grandma came back soaked through, clutching a rhubarb pie with a big smile on her face. She’d clearly had a great time and after I’d got her into dry clothes, she slept like a baby for the rest of the afternoon.

I don’t think I’ll be like that when I grow old, I’m not into gardening for a start. I do it because I have to but I’m not interested – no matter how many episodes of Gardeners’ World I have to (pretend to) watch on Friday nights.

As part of my carer duties, I have to mow the lawn regularly and keep the garden looking somewhat tidy. Grandma embodies a cuter version of Edward ScissorHands and wanders around the small square back garden in her red and white dotted wellies with an alarmingly large pair of secateurs. She will take swipes at any plant she thinks is out of place or overgrown. Because she is basically blind, I have to keep a very close eye on which plant she is attacking with her giant scissors as they often attack her back and she ends up with bloody scratches on her arms and legs. She is ruthless, once she has those secateurs in her hand, she will not stop cutting plants back until I tell her to stop, I have seen her trying (in vain) to attack a tree stump, lose all her fights with the rose plants, and give a very severe haircut to a bush who did nothing to deserve it.

More regularly, she likes to water the house plants by putting them in the sink and letting them soak in water. The plants seem happy about their drink, I’m less happy about cleaning up a sink full of dirt and dead leaves. She also likes to water the flowers on either side of the front door, we have established a little routine where I help outside, she holds on to the window ledge to steady herself and I go get her little pink watering can. I fill it up, give it to her and she waters the first plant. We repeat the process for the other plant pot. I do have to guide her hand as she tends to water the wall quite a lot.

Despite these minimal efforts and the occasional plant drowning in the sink, grandma has green fingers. It baffles my mother who puts in more effort with less results; I suspect after seeing Joan Scissorshands in action, the plants are scared into behaving.