I am starting to love Joe Swift. Every time he appears on Gardeners' World lately I start thinking "Oh, what a nice face he has." Everyone knows that is just girl code for I want to kiss him.
Partly it's to do with the drubbing he got over the allotment he's started: I am a total sucker for the underdog in any given situation, especially if it's horticultural - I couldn't believe the level of vitriol aimed at poor old Joe. I also love the way he talks; he has one of those accents which couldn't be from anywhere but North London, swerving dangerously between educated Islington and market-trader-Hackney within the space of one sentence.
In additional evidence for his lovability, I would encourage the court to accept in evidence the fact that he got his wife and kids (yes readers, there's no future in this amour foudre) down the allotment. There's nothing like a man who is fond of his children to make women go all gooey.
However, I am going to have to draw the line at the patio garden he started making last night on Gardeners' World. Oh my god! We said patio garden, Joe, not pub garden. First he put a jasmine in a pot with some random lavenders round the bottom, then made the grossest windowboxes ever - they were nice to start with, although a bit on the large side. But then he
painted them faux medieval browny-black and put them on curly iron supports. Sigh. Still, it had to go wrong somewhere.