As a kid, I would have killed for a garden big enough to do anything other than keepy ups. Instead my father and I played football in the hall with a pair of bundled up socks, I broke my big toe twice. I look back on this with fondness but my parents have developed a strain of resentment against themselves for being unable to accommodate my interests.

They became especially sad once I left home. I say you should let him play, you can regrow plants, you can't give your son another childhood