Susan Morrison

When I recently offered my husband the chance of a whirlwind Berlin visit he said, no, he'd rather go to Inverness. I suspect this enthusiasm for the Highland capital was inspired by two considerations.

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Inspired by my patchy listening to Gardeners Question Time, I bought two tomato plants and a chilli. Gardening’s not all delphiniums and dahlias for us children of the cornflower and the crocus, y’know.

A very long time ago, a dear friend told me that all women eventually become gardeners. This was back in the years when I smoked B&H, propped up the bar until 2am and could get up again for work at 8am. Admittedly, when I got to the office, I didn’t do much.

One morning when I was about thirteen I started sneezing on an epic scale and my eyes suddenly watered, itched and most alarmingly, began to swell.

Catching a bus on Great Junction Street used to be a doddle. You went out, you stood at a bus stop, the bus stopped, on you got and off you went. We were spoiled, I tell you, and came to regard this situation as a right.

Despite my great age, I’m usually nifty with computers. Always have been, from the very first days of their appearance in Scotland’s offices, way back in the 90s.

People coming to tea always sounds lovely, conjuring up images of dainty tea cups and saucers with matching milk jugs, sugar bowls and side plates.

Now and then my grumpy Yorkshire husband abandons all notions of thrift and we take to Waitrose Comely Bank for a bit of a shop.

My GP is worried about my blood pressure. It’s slightly elevated, she says. Actually, it's not just her. We have a home BP reader, and it speaks.