For a moment, back in my teens, I was nearly persuaded to sign up for the Army. My dad, in whose mind memories of National Service were still painfully fresh, rapidly disillusioned me.

"The Army is boring - it's just about digging holes and trenches and peeling potatoes!" he cried.

I now see his point. I ordered a large box of bulbs in September. A ridiculous thing to do, given that it was clearly never going to stop raining ever again. This last month has been a constant battle of rushing outside between rain, or waiting until the frost disappears and the ground is soft enough to dig a large hole.

I've now made several large holes. Watched by The Enemy, which has cunningly established a frontline lookout position on next door's shed roof. No sooner do I dig a hole, plant some bulbs and fill it in again, then The Enemy ambushes it. Yes, next door's cats believe that I am making cat latrines. Purely for their benefit. The tulips are going to have a nasty shock when they emerge next Spring.

I still have 28 tulip bulbs to plant. All I need to complete the job is a large dollop of sunshine and a cat's-arse-sized-boot. Today, I have the sunshine so I'm going back on manoeuvres. After a large bowl of Leek and Potato Soup. Home-made, of course. Clearly, Dad was wrong. I was perfectly cut out for Army life.