My name is Helen and I am a pot addict.

There, glad that's out in the open. Always best to just be honest I think. So, that's me, a pot addict. Flower pots, garden tubs, hanging pots and baskets. I love them, they make my heart sing and my feet tap, they make my face smile, even when it's still a bit sore ( but I won't go on about that anymore, I promise).
My mum made me a pot or two for the barn, which were pretty but I sort of let them go a bit crispy because I was looking at paddocks and sheep and vast expanses of loveliness, the pots were a bit forgotten ( though appreciated in their forgotten sort of way) Also at the barn were 2 year round pots, one each side of the front door that were pretty and welcoming and gloriously unkillable. I particularly liked those ones because they just kept being lovely even when they were dry and gasping for some attention and you know, water.
This house, poor thing, is looking so much better but still a little sad and unloved. Trying to look all smart and 'LOOK AT ME! I am CLEAN!" crunchy gravel and new doorbells have made it feel precious and more inclined to make us feel happy when we drive in the driveway ( over a bridge no less, I could even exaggerate that and make out we have a moat or something but you've seen the pictures, it's a pretty stream with a bridge and tiny wall.)
My mallow tree ( in a pot because we keep moving, did I tell you that? and have trees will travel, shan't leave trees behind for new people, charity be damned!)
It still needs something though, so I bought some pots. Also some plants. I am now stuck in this catch 33, ( altogether more muddling than a catch 22, naturally) I bought 3 huge bags of compost, 3 for £6.99, and some tubs, some pretty evergreen shrubby things and some autumn pansies. That kind of thing.
Then it begins. Fill pots, have compost left over, but few more pots and flowers, run out of compost, buy more compost........you get the picture.
I have now got a hanging basket and a bracket and even a husband to hang the bracket and basket. Some more pots and a few more pansies, also a hardy ( we like that word when attached to plants and things about to be tended by me) Fuscia.
I find myself walking out of ( and back into) the front door and every time saying " awwwwww" or not even saying anything but just sighing and then sighing again. I find my thoughts wandering to bad and evil people who might come in the night and steal my pots. Let 'em try.
The front of the house is beginning to look happy and infinitely more loved. Good job me.
I shall ( of course) take pictures when I run out of either pots or compost or flowers again. I am going to have to get firm with myself and at some stage will have to say 'enough'. Just not yet.
I have more to say on a totally different subject but my legs are twitching and I am in need of a lie down.