We call it Death Row and today it was almost the death of me. Of course it wasn’t originally named Death Row, this is just a term of endearment/abuse. In reality it is the nursery bed where historically rooted cuttings, of shrubs mainly, were lined out a few inches apart to grow on. So far, so good. Where it all went a bit pear shaped was that not only were these plants seldom labelled they generally had nowhere to go when they had outgrown their spot. They were condemned to a slow death by constriction. So this area is a tangled mess of assorted shrubs and just to add a bit of excitement to the mix, king sized brambles. Today I put on my Indiana Jones hat and ventured bravely into murky depths of the lost land. I managed to rescue and replant around the garden an azalea, some kind of small leaved variegated euonymous and a myrtle, with both myself and the plants relatively unscathed. I then attempted to liberate a white weigelia. It was then it all turned a bit nasty. Imagine rows of mixed shrubs, now up to 6ft tall, planted so close together it is nigh on impossible to get any kind of tool between them. Over the intervening years since their planting they had fused together to make one monster plant of intermingled branches, and more disturbingly, roots. It took me almost an hour to get one plant out, cruel decision after cruel decision as to which root to cut. All I can say is that it is just as well I am both sublimely patient and double-jointed. I’m neither actually.