Split the bulbs the evening before and keep the largest cloves. Two fingers deep, pointy end up, a hand apart. The tub on the north side did better last year than the one in full sun, which still surprises me.
Fewer plants, bigger pots. The cherry variety on the railing gave fruit until the last week of September; the beefsteak in the corner sulked all summer. Next year: one of each, and a proper stake from the start.
Let two stems flower, wait until the heads go brown and rattle, then rub them over a sheet of paper. Most of what falls out is chaff; the seeds are the small black ones that roll.
A five-litre bottle, a length of aquarium tubing and a clip from the stationery drawer kept the herbs alive for ten days. Not elegant, but nothing died.