MY weary shoulders are throbbing. Biceps, calves and thighs each, in turn, emit a dull ache. This past week I have done more bending and twisting than a 1980s aerobics instructor. Thankfully, no Lycra was harmed – or worn – in the making of this column.

Rather, I have been getting my sleeves rolled up and gone out into the garden. Every spare moment (when the rain isn’t lashing down or the wind blowing a hoolie) is devoted to building raised beds in a tricky, neglected corner beneath the trees.

It has been one of those projects that seems straightforward enough yet, every so often, throws up a gargantuan problem requiring the mental agility, stamina and physical heft of undergoing several rounds of The Krypton Factor.

Previous owners had laid bark chippings between the gaps of a small, criss-crossing section of paths. The bark looked nice enough and helped keep down the weeds, but I fancied giving the space over to some wildflowers.

Each of the raised beds will be a mini meadow. It has been back-breaking work at times, lugging planks or trundling to-and-fro with a heavy wheelbarrow filled with compost. I hope the butterflies, bees and other pollinating creatures appreciate this Herculean effort.

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The layout necessitates that the raised beds be built in an assortment of loosely shaped triangles. It did fleetingly cross my mind that this might present a long-awaited chance to finally use Pythagoras’ theorem.

Some readers, I’m sure, can relate to the tears and fraught handwringing of trying – and failing – to grasp the basic concept of this mathematical formula (something about the hypotenuse of a triangle) at school. My poor teacher. I recall being urged to persevere as “one day it will come in handy”.

Had that glorious dawn finally arrived? Not a hope. My attempts were such a muddle that I feared my melted brain would start dripping like molten metal. I also had to fight the urge to snap a pencil with my teeth.

Perhaps a better opportunity will present itself in another 30-odd years? By then, I suppose, we could all be living on Mars and I’ll suggest giving Pythagoras’ theorem a whirl when constructing raised beds in the gardening pod.

Or more likely I will throw open the gardening pod door and step out into the bleak, unforgiving terrain of the Red Planet and let the oxygen be sucked from my lungs. I know which option sounds preferable.

To be honest, I’m not sure Pythagoras’ theorem would have worked with these “triangles”. I’m not just saying that because at 43 I have even less of a grasp of it than I did at 13.

The raised beds need to fit within the existing paths which, when laid some years ago, were clearly gauged by eye. Badly.

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Then again, it is possible whoever built them was simply rubbish with numbers and equations like me. Maybe, I have found a kindred spirit reaching a hand across time. That’s a comforting thought.

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