Sitting on an uncomfortable train going to Cambridge. I’m supposed to be thinking about waves of disruption, but instead I’m reading about gardening. The line in the piece below that grabs me is that in a garden, time is circular, not chronological. It’s certainly not wholly linear, although, to some extent, it is ultimately about birth, decay and then death. Then the cycle repeats. Strangely, for me, that’s not a depressing thought. Quite the opposite in fact.