None of this! A hopepipe ban is in force in the Anglian Water region and most of south-east England.

It’s been nearly five days and I’ve still not succumbed to the temptation to use a hosepipe – this ban is going to be an absolute cinch.

I’ve found that not owning a hosepipe has been a real boon as has having the kind of garden that estate agents refer to as “bijoux” and “low maintenance” (it is entirely concrete).

I have foregone cleaning my private leisure boat and filling or maintaining my domestic swimming pool and fountain. I even cancelled the Golden Triangle Easter Wet T-Shirt competition on the grounds that you never know where Anglian Water’s spies might be lurking.

I have always hated gardening – despite both parents being green-fingered and keen – seeing it as housework in the rain, which as concepts go, is about as depressing as honeymooning in Ipswich.

Most of my friends garden, many have allotments and some garden professionally: I haven’t judged them though, indeed I have made a concerted effort to accept any free fruit or vegetables they can offer me so they know I’m still there for them, regardless of their boring, filthy outdoor habits.

I have toxic red-fingers: I have killed cacti (which I believe is literally impossible) and now consider houseplants to have the same shelf-life as cut flowers, because that’s what they do have if they come into my house.

On the plus side, I am the kind of customer that Anglian Water puts on the front of their brochures, on the minus side I live in a grey world where going out into the garden is like stepping into the exercise yard of a high-security prison.

It’s a small price to pay for not gardening.