Jonny McCambridge: Planting two trees in the back garden. By Goodness, I cannot handle a spade

And then, in the gardening section, I spot a small olive tree. I stop and stare at it. I don’t believe I have ever seen an olive tree before. I’m fairly confident that I don’t know anyone who has one. In fact, I’m not even sure that I was aware that olives grew on trees. I am encouraged at discovering something so unexpected.

I buy the olive tree.

It is the morning of my wife’s birthday and I am slightly nervous as the presents are presented. My son is getting glowing plaudits as he hands over the small bracelet with two joined hearts bearing the words ‘Mother and Son’.

As he basks in the glory, I consider if my stature would be diminished by pointing out that I selected and paid for the bracelet. I say nothing.

I hand over the olive tree. My wife smiles and nods.

"Thanks honey. That will go beautifully with the olive tree you bought me last year.”

So, it emerges, we now have two olive trees. The little bush that I purchased last year is rediscovered in a pot outside the back door. It looks withered and sad, not at all bursting with splendour.

Still stung by my latest birthday present failure, I declare that I am going to plant the old olive tree and the new olive tree in the garden where, it can only be hoped, they will one day fruit.

I don’t expect results that would allow me to open my own olive oil factory, or even a Mediterranean deli, but growing just one olive seems to be an achievement which would make a fine addition to my CV.

I am encouraged by my admittedly limited experience in growing trees. My famous little crab apple tree in the front garden is well on its way to producing another champion harvest. A miniature Christmas tree in a pot which I planted several years ago rather than binning it in January, has defied all expectations by quadrupling in size.

Planting two olives trees involves digging two holes. Digging holes requires the use of a spade. The last time there was the squelch of a spade in my back garden was when my Da was erecting a swing for my son some years ago. I watched him as he worked.

Returning to the Seamus Heaney theme from last week – by God, the old man could handle a spade. Unlike Heaney, I do have a spade to follow men like that. It’s just that I’m useless with it.

I try to rouse some enthusiasm from the household. I ask my son if he would like to watch me dig some holes in the garden. He looks at me as if this is the most absurd prospect he’s ever heard in his life.

I try a slightly different angle, stating that we are having a tree planting ceremony and it is a family affair. My wife and son grumble as they pull on their shoes.

I search for my rusty old spade. There is so much junk in my shed that I cannot see its floor. I grab at various wooden shafts which I see poking up at irregular angles in the hope that one will be the desired tool.

I find a rake, a shovel and a yard brush.

I spot another shaft. It turns out to be a sledgehammer. I didn’t know that I owned a sledgehammer. I’m not sure when I’ve ever used one. I’m pretty certain I’m not the right man to own one. I shudder at the prospect of me using a sledgehammer as I return it to the shed.

My spade is eventually discovered not in the shed at all, but instead leaning against my garden fence where presumably it has been resting for several years since I last used it.

I begin my first attempt at digging a hole which is swiftly abandoned when I’m forced to concede that bedroom slippers is not a sensible choice of footwear.

After a quick wardrobe change, I begin my second attempt. I gingerly poke at the ground, then mysteriously blow onto my hands before delivering the spade firmly into the soil and grass.

At once I hit something disturbingly hard, which sends unpleasant vibrations up my arms.

I try a few more cautious prods of the ground and quickly ascertain that there is a large, long and solid object just below the surface.

I proceed slowly. I fear what lies beneath the earth. It occurs to me that it could be a cable or pipe. One wrong move and I may flood the garden or leave the whole estate without electricity.

Worse, what if it is an electronic cable which controls many of the world’s IT systems. One rash move with my spade could result in a global failure of banking systems, planes falling out of the sky or the accidental launch of defensive nuclear weapons systems.

It seems unlikely but you never know.

Further examination reveals that it is not a cable or pipe, but an enormous root from a tree. This is surprising in that there are no trees close to the area where I am digging.

I spend some time pondering which famous tree from history this mysterious root could belong to and settle on the fruit tree from which an apple fell on Isaac Newton’s head.

I move to another area. I dig one hole. Then I dig a second hole. The trees are planted.

I turn to face my family in smiling celebration, only to notice they have long since given up and gone back inside.