It is the time of year when any semblance of control evaporates, if indeed it ever really existed outside of our bubble of optimism. The warmth of the sun and the spring showers have conspired to produce the perfect environment for all the weed seed in the universe to germinate. At least it seems that way. This seed was always there, lying unseen on the surface and just below, like some noxious germ. Produce of weeds that flowered, ripened and scattered last year, or perhaps the previous, or the one before that, or up to seven years ago if you can believe the old gardener’s tale. These may have come from your own patch or flown in airmail from a neighbour’s. Or perhaps a small piece of pernicious root was missed whilst removing past adversaries, even though you searched for every scrap as if for golden sovereigns. Seemingly over night, they emerge like monsters from the deep; stickyweed strangles and tangles like evil velcro around the cultivated softies, anaconda bindweed twines around emerging herbs, the dandelions whose transition from mane to clock to empty glass happens in the blink of the eye, the mat forming ground elder stifling and relentless. But do not despair, this exuberance will slow and as we approach mid summer the pendulum will swing back in our direction again. Those released from the dastardly clutches will spread to swamp the interlopers and a delicate truce will be formed. Until next time.