BEES are hovering above a plain of white swaying daisies. A row of wooden barrels contain, not their original beer, but gallons of rainwater gathered in a network of pipes from roofs. Nets cover the ripening sweet peas and strawberries to frustrate the opportunistic pigeons. A young woman, as if time matters little, is assiduously carving out a wooden spoon, standing at a table outdoors in the sunshine.

An idyllic rural scene which could have been captured any time in the last century. But this is today in Glasgow, and it's right in the city centre.

I know the area well. It is Shuttle Street, just one street up from the old Herald office and printing works in Albion Street. Our offices were a boundary. To the west were the converted lofts, restaurants and bars signalling the way to George Square and a hedonistic city centre determined to smile better. Turn to the east and it was a more desolate landscape of wasteland, temporary carparks and the occasional solitary tenement building like sandstone teeth in an otherwise toothless smile.

Glasgow could always do wasteland. Hardly a film or crime series set in the city could run its course without a gang fight or some other jangling confrontation on a wasteland usually surrounded by boarded-up houses. Score a bonus point if you spotted a burned-out car or wheel-less pram in situ.

Slowly the city has been reclaiming its wasteland. The old Herald car park has suddenly become Strathclyde University's bold Technology and Information Centre. It's disorienting confronting buildings where you could have sworn there was just emptiness only weeks earlier.

Not all of it is built on so timeously. Planners call it "stalled space". There are plans for it, but for many reasons the work is not going ahead just yet. So often it is just left, awaiting the next Glasgow crime drama to be filmed. Until that is someone at the council thought it would be a good idea to use the city's stalled spaces. Occasionally Glasgow City Council does surprise you by coming up with an apposite plan.

So here at Shuttle Street for the past three years, and with an uncertain future, is Greyfriars Garden. Not the neat lawns and pathways of gardens you encounter amongst the private housing of the west end. This is a garden of raised beds, roughly six feet by six feet, where locals imaginatively use the space to grow every fruit and vegetable possible. Around the bases of the raised beds, smaller tubs are crammed in to ensure even more of a crop.

To one side an area of wild flowers has been left which attracts the bees for their pollination. A rough path has been cut through the wilderness to a table and chairs where you can sit and truly believe you have been transported to the countryside. When I worked here you would have heard the steady beat of the printing presses, the loudspeaker announcements of which van had to go to which loading bay, and the foul-mouthed invective of van boys cursing each other in the colourful Glasgow demotic. Now there is only the murmur of vehicles on George Street and the soothing buzz of the passing bees.

Nor is the scheme just a plaything for west end do-gooders. You have to live locally, with the garden scheme bringing together older, traditional Glaswegians from the neat, yet tucked away Glasgow Housing Association flats at Drygate, up towards the Cathedral, and often younger folk from the Trongate and Merchant City.

The two types of citizens would normally never meet. But here at Greyfriars Garden, the shared experience of growing your own food bonds them as gardening tips are exchanged, seeds swopped, and implements loaned.

Amongst them is Veronica Low, current chair of the garden scheme, who tells me she knew little about growing vegetables until she got involved three years ago. And then she made an offer never made to me by a woman in Glasgow before. "Would you like a cabbage? I've got too many for me to use."

The garden brings friendships, shared experiences, and even healthier living, which is what everyone in authority bangs on about. Veronica shows me some kale that's cultivating. "There are now people eating kale that never ate it before," she muses.

As for the gardens, she explains: "Architecture is not just about the buildings, but also the spaces in between." But why does she do it? Why does she spend hours at the weekend trowel in hand? "It's hard to put into words," she eventually says. "But growing something you can eat - I've never done that before."

For older, single men from the Drygate, it is the only communal activity they are going to get involved in. Not for them amateur dramatics, five-a-sides, or other activities. Here they can wander down when it suits, and chat as much or as little as they want with their fellow gardeners.

There are 39 miniature plots, and a small waiting list of people. An office worker came over just the other day after seeing it from her window and asked if she could join. Unfortunately not, as the list is just for people who live nearby. She then asked if she could at least spend the occasional lunch hour weeding as a pleasant outdoor distraction. Yes even weeding is preferable to a lunch-break at your desk.

The future of the garden is not known. By its very nature of being in stalled space there will be a time when it will be required for whichever development is envisaged. The gardeners are hoping that an alternative space can be found for them and they can continue.

And apologies for this obvious pun, but I can't help myself. The gardeners hope that no matter what happens, they don't lose the plot.