The Houseplant That Has Better Living Conditions Than Me

I have accidentally become emotionally responsible for a houseplant.

It started innocently enough. I spotted a rather miserable-looking plant in the reduced section of a garden centre. Its leaves were drooping, its soil looked exhausted and somebody had attached a yellow sticker announcing it was worth £2.

Naturally, I brought it home.

I wasn’t planning to become a plant enthusiast.

I simply thought it deserved another chance.

Besides, I’ve spent considerably more than £2 on things with less potential.

I found it a sunny spot, gave it some water and told it to make itself comfortable.

Yes, I spoke to it.

Within days, I was checking its leaves every morning like a concerned relative visiting someone in hospital.

“Looking better today!”

Then I discovered that houseplants apparently have opinions about everything.

Too much water. Not enough water. Too much sunlight. Not enough sunlight. Draughts, humidity, drainage and something called root rot, which sounds like a particularly unpleasant medieval punishment.

Meanwhile, I consider remembering to drink a glass of water before lunchtime a significant personal achievement.

My plant now has a carefully selected position, regular attention and a little saucer to catch excess water.

I have a chair covered in things that need putting away.

Something has gone terribly wrong with the household hierarchy.

But here’s the lovely bit.

Last week, I noticed a tiny new leaf unfolding.

I was ridiculously pleased.

Not because I’d achieved anything extraordinary, but because something I’d nearly overlooked was quietly thriving with a little care and patience.

It reminded me how easily we become preoccupied with everything that needs fixing, improving or finishing.

Sometimes it’s enough to notice what’s growing.

A friendship. A little confidence. A new interest. Even the ability to enjoy an afternoon without feeling guilty about the jobs waiting at home.

We don’t always need dramatic transformations. Small changes deserve celebrating too.

Anyway, my £2 rescue is flourishing.

I’ve named her Margaret.

She’s currently enjoying the best position in the house while I sit beside a draughty window wearing an expression of mild resentment.

Have you ever become unexpectedly attached to something you originally brought home on a whim?