DAYDREAM BELIEVER

Fuelled by the temptations of plant catalogues, Nigel Slater fills winter days imagining his dream garden

- PAUL WEARING, JOHN CAMPBELL

The ground lies undisturbed. The fork and trowel sit in silence. The rake unused, almost forlorn. At this point in the year, there is nothing much to plant or prune, little to trim or tie up. Most of this month's gardening is done in my head rather than with my hands.

That said, there is still important work to be done.

By which I mean dreaming. The kitchen table is scattered with more garden catalogues. My laptop is open at a page of perennials and my notebooks are overflowing with lists. Each brochure and online shop brings with it a trug-full of opportunities. These displays, and especially their gorgeous photography, are the stuff of dreams. Turn the pages for overflowing buckets of pastel-coloured dahlias; grasses whose feathery plumes are caught romantically in the evening light and entire hosta plants that appear without a single hole in their leaves. This is cold, wet-weather gardening at its best: page after page of possibilities to be considered while drinking tea by the fire.

And not only plants; oh, dear me, no. Each copper spade, stone bird bath and tiny greenhouse beckons. I swear the display of leather garden gloves are waving directly at me. Every advertisement and photo is bursting with hope for a better, more beautiful garden.

There is temptation at every turn. The hose that doesn't kink. The plant protectors that will guard my seedlings from slugs and the bug hotel for all the new pollinators that are on their way to my garden.