It is half past three. I visit the greenhouse for the fourth time today. There is an enveloping warmth of trapped sunshine. A warmth that bathes the bones. The smell of growth, and compost, and seeds, and damp gravel. On my right, the heat mat is covered with a jigsaw of pots, trays, tubs and modules, each fitted carefully together to make the most of the magic of the heat mat. Cinnamon basil, woad for dyeing, tete noir red cabbages, trays of thyme, chard, beetroot and some hopeful wild strawberries (the seed was ancient, I am managing my expectations). 

The heat mat changed everything for me. It is a log strip of foil, with heating elements snaking up and down. Crucially, it is thermostat controlled, and a pleasingly copper probe ensures that I can keep my seed trays at a constant 18-20 degrees. This is particularly important at this early stage of the season as the chilly nights (it is forecast to be close to freezing tonight) can check growth, even when the day-time conditions are perfect for getting everything sprouting. 

Although this is wonderful, I used windowsill propagators for years with great success. Make sure you use the clear plastic lids on trays in these though, I do find them very drying. 

And if you don’t fancy one of those either, I have grown hundreds of kilos of pumpkins and squash from plants started on a storage heater. I mean, I was freezing during the winter, but they were worth keeping just for that.

It is a quarter to five. I visit the green house for the fifth time today. 

More cosmos has sprouted, it really is the fastest seed to germinate. A single copper stock seed (matthiola incana) shows a little green. I sprinkle a little more compost on the beetroot. I dip the seed tray of thyme in a tray of water just in case it is a bit dry. Weighing the tray in your hands gives a better indicator than poking and prodding. Compost that is dry feels too light. 

I tip compost into a tray, shake to level, press very gently. I have been known to over-compact my compost and you can tell, because the roots tend to sit on the surface and go sideways than heading down. They look sort of insecure in the compost. Seeds that are no sufficiently covered with compost will also struggle, and often dry out too quickly. Monty Don just does a sort of tap to settle the compost, but I do prefer a little more pressure.

Once sprouted, the trays move to the other side of the staging. Some pricked out, some just waiting and growing. Rows and rows of tomatoes. Ammi. Cavolo nero. Kelvedon Wonder peas. Leeks. I thought the germination had been poor, but once off the heat, a new leek seedling has appeared every day for about three weeks. I stroke the plants gently to strengthen the stems. (Plants in a greenhouse are protected from moving air, it’s the equivalent of running on a treadmill without having any wind resistance. Stroking them mimics this. It is also astonishingly therapeutic.)

The plants that are getting ready to be planted out sit on the path by the door, hardening off. A few days outside, and then I will pick a spell of even, warm weather and plant them into the kitchen garden.

I mentioned yesterday that the greenhouse was a second hard one, moved from the Old Vicarage in November 2014. I cannot pretend it is particularly pretty, but I do adore it. Nor can I pretend it is particularly sturdy, and has been blown away more times than I care to count. The wind comes in the door if it left open and pops the glass out. Once the glass has gone, the frame really isn’t very strong at all, and it just crumples in the most dramatic and tragic way. Yes, I now check it religiously if I hear the slightest breeze, often padding out in my pyjamas so I can sleep when the wind is howling. 

I am going to do some before, during and afters of various bits of the garden, inspired by Jenny from The Laundry Garden’s photographic records, but my photography has come on a lot, so you will have to forgive some of the befores. The last picture is by Roger Bool.