Alex James: I'm never happier than when in my garden Working farms don't often have much in the way of gardens - why would people who spend their working lives growing stuff want to do it for fun at weekends as well? Our place certainly didn't have a garden to shout about when we arrived. Right outside the back door there was about an acre of concrete, an old silage clamp: so forbidding that the back door didn't have a lock on it. Didn't need one - all that ugly concrete was enough to discourage anyone from snooping around. Farmers tend to be quite practical and gardens are not particularly practical things - in days gone by, a kitchen garden made economic sense. When we dug up the concrete I found the remains of a Victorian walled garden, unceremoniously crushed by the wheels of industry. Factor in the time I spend poking around the vegetable patch and it would work out much cheaper to buy everything from Daylesford, but I do it because I love it. I'm never happier than when pulling up a few leeks or nibbling on a fresh lettuce leaf, still warm from the sunshine - a sensory pleasure the greatest restaurants and the finest wines can only hint at. I'd never had a garden before we moved here. There's a lot to learn but I lapped it all up. When starting from scratch, it's not just about the plants. It's like building another house, on the side, really. I've gradually got to grips with pergolas, parterres and ponds: it's a creative, expressive process. In fact I find the process: dreaming, planning, building and planting, just as satisfying as the end result, which is fortunate, because gardens won't be rushed. It was years ago that I started building the fountain, the focal point of the whole thing, and it's still only half finished, but then that's the blessing and the curse of gardeners everywhere. There's always something else to be done.