I've taken up gardening.
Although I'm not sure it can be called gardening in my case - more 'balconing' as we don't have a garden, just a large walkway/balcony - but it's true what all those irksome TV chefs with 7 acres of land say; you can still do a lot with a small space.
Various flowers which I don't know the name of
The sad fact is that I do actually quite enjoy growing stuff, but it all comes as part of the gradual, sinking realisation that I am turning into my mother. Obviously I knew this would happen one day, but I thought I could at least hold out till 30. Nope. I garden, I wear stripy tops, I like blue and white crockery and spend a lot more time talking about the size of my bottom than I do trying to rectify it. And, most worryling, the other day the Archers came on and I didn't turn it off straight away (you may ask what I was doing listening to Radio 4 anyway - I was listening for news of zombie apocalypse, duh). SOMEONE PUT ME IN A BOOB TUBE AND TAKE ME OUT FOR TEQUILLA SLAMMERS, RIGHT AWAY.