The sun comes out for an hour and the shops become full of multi-coloured flip-flops.

You can splash out on brand new make-up in subtle pastel shades and you can't walk into a DIY shop without tripping over an assortment of garden furniture.

This happened to me recently. I nearly fell headlong onto a garden swing and ended up doing an impression of George of the Jungle except at ground level.

"Ooh," my mother enthused, her eyes glittering at the thought of another purchase, "that would be a great addition to the garden, what do you think?"

I grumbled in dismay. Usually our garden furniture survives just a few days of the summer actually out in the garden and then it is banished into the shed where it spends the rest of its natural life acting as a shelf for various books and papers.

That's what happened to the patio set. And one day when I was tidying up I cleared a mass of discarded clothing and re-discovered the exercise bike. It is the same in the garden.

One day of sunshine sends us, paralytic with excitement, to the nearest B & Q or Poundstretcher to buy gallons of compost and flower seeds and pruners. Three days later we give up and go back to watching Neighbours and wonder why we even bothered.

It's no surprise then that we love asphalting everything.

I think we have a love-hate relationship with summer.

Of course we appreciate the gorgeous dawns and the lovely afternoons and the fact that we don't have to have the heating on 24 hours. Only seven. But then there are things we didn't like, such as the bees and the pollen and the fact that you go three shades darker.

And gardening itself is a minefield. Whoever said it was relaxing?

First of all you have to know which are the flowers and which are the weeds. Then you have to get on your hands and knees and this is a bit embarrassing when people go past you when you have your bum sticking in the air.

We totally gave up then.

All the flowers died and my friend commented how Asian people love to have floral patterned carpets, curtains and wallpaper, but none in the garden.

Even the most horticulturally-minded prefer to grow cabbages rathers than crocuses.

In the end we decided it was best to call a professional. But every time he ventures into the front garden he is mobbed by passers-by who want him to do their weeding as well.

Hmm, even gardens can inspire the green-eyed monster. But why can't it make us green-fingered?