Grown men, talking about their gardens: “It’s a diversion, you see. Empties the head. Youíve got your own place where you can do what you want. And besides, itís good exercise.”

They talk with tenderness and pride about their vegetables and flowers: “Look, look here, fresh lettuce. In December! And this summer, I had over 500 tomatoes.” They are creating their own little versions of paradise. But they are casual about it. Few words, no large gestures.

Sometimes, they have advice for absent neighbors: ìThis guy is a modernist. “Letting nature take its courseí, he calls it. Itís a right mess is that garden!”. He shakes his head and turns away in disgust. The plot next to his is a gorgeous mix of weeds, poppies and lupines. One manís Eden is another man’s hell.