The Rake's Progress

Apologies, apologies, once more for not blogging, but I've been far too busy recently. But now it's half term and I've time for an update! My birthday came and went (four cards, one a week late and spelling my name wrong) and I received some gardening vouchers from my in-laws. So, this Saturday saw me up at the smartest garden centre in town purchasing a rake...no ordinary rake, mind you, this is a Wilkinson Sword Rake of much extended head length. I must say, it's only since I started the allotment lark that I've realised how important having a good rake is, 'cos our esteemed leader bought some lovely ones right from the start, and using them is a joy. It's all to do with making a fine tilth, you see. You just don't get that with a substandard rake, and then all your seeds die. And, boy, am I planning to plant some seeds this spring! Now I've moved house, I'm faced with yet another grotty bit of lawn, so that's coming up straight away and I'm planting a wildlife patch (just wake me up when Spring gets here...) Something else I'm planning this year is to grow dwarf runner beans in pots. I'll let you know how that gets on. So, anyway, the birthday passed. H actually came up trumps---he bought me a mobile phone which turned out to have sudoku on it. I'll probably never call anyone, but I can't pull myself away from the game. Totally obsessed! Those of you still interested in the story of the allotment will be delighted to know that, despite raging snow storms and floods, I've prepared the Victorian Hotbeds for another year....

It is better to give than to receive...Ha!

What would you think about a husband who gave his wife a grey paperback entitled 'How to Store Your Garden Produce' as his main gift for Christmas? Well, I can tell you what I think, "B*st*rd!" I can tell you, quite frankly, that despite the Centre for Alternative Technology calling this book "a great gift for any gardener", it most certainly isn't. It's about the most boring bloody book I've ever seen. It seems so unfair when I'd bought him a delightful MP3 player, a portable steamer, AND a radio controlled helicopter ('toy of the year' according to some sources). Other members of my marital family seem to think, with one mind, that what I need is a good wash, as I received very little other than bars of soap from them (despite offering them acres of hospitality and free parsnips). Solid soap's useless to me as I use the liquid kind. I was determined not to get depressed this Christmas, but I can tell you that by Boxing Day morning my mood was very black indeed. Perhaps it wasn't surprising, therefore, that I 'accidently' set light to my place setting before lunch ( I had been lighting candles and put what I thought was a burnt out match down before leaving the room), causing a major fracas amongst the relatives, as a napkin, and an entire place mat were engulfed with flames. I felt better after that...

International Disaster

I'm pretty exhausted today, as I've just finished placing my nativity sets around the new house. I should explain that I have around 25 nativity sets from around the world, most of which had not been unpacked since our move from France over two years ago. So first of all I had to unpack them all from their shoe boxes. My desk soon took on the appearance of a multinational refugee camp with fighting Kings, sobbing Mary's, and abandoned baby Jesus's all over the place. Took me ages to sort it all out, I can tell you. Everyone's in their correct family unit with no cultural differences to worry the social services about. The only disaster was I accidently ripped the head off an Equadorian angel. But I have a spare! (Angel not head). All this on top of missing my first visit from the bin men this morning. How can this have happened, you ask yourself? Well, I forgot they come A DAY EARLY on Christmas week. This can happen to the best of us, even those who collect considerable amounts for charity....ok, ok, I can't wait to tell you, I collected over £50 in my box more than a tenth of the sum total for the whole day. How's the new house? Wonderful. Just a few minor teething pains. Like the central heating going off every day and a distinct lack of hot water (did I tell you about our state-of-the-art solar panels?).

We Wish You A Merry Christmas

Oh Lord, I feel I've been letting you all down with my absence again. But I've been so busy what with the house move and all. Not to mention fund-raising again for my charity. I discovered this year there was an opportunity to collect money in the city centre with carol singers. So, I said I'd go as long as I could sing. When I mentioned this to the snobby woman on the phone she said, 'Oh nooooo, you caaarrnt do that. We have some of the most professional of choirs coming' 'Can I hum?' I said, promising to arrive at 9.30 sharp. So I arrived, and she of the starched grey hair said, 'You said you were coming at 11.00' No, I said, 9.30. She sent me away until 10.00. I returned and joyfully took my can and overalls. I was soon in the swing of things, chasing shoppers up and down the mall and covering small children with stickers. Mrs Starchy told me to stand quietly by the pillar. I had a pretty dull half an hour collecting absolutely zero money, when who should arrive but my friend from the Manic Depressive Society. He got bored after about two minutes and, putting the collecting can on his head, started to mimic slitting his throat. At this point I asked the choir whether they took requests, and asked them to sing something a bit more upbeat (they'd been doing some awful, depressing stuff in four part harmony). So we had a rousing rendition of We Wish You A Merry Christmas with me and my friend dancing and singing at the tops of our voices. We soon gathered quite a crowd and the money really started rolling in! At 11.30 I had to go as I was meeting H in town, so I told Mrs H of my immanent departure. 'Oh you can't possibly do that' she said, 'We only leave on the hour...' I said, just watch me, and left. I hope I leave you all well. I might not be around for a bit as I'm finally moving house tomorrow and I'm not sure about my internet connections...But I hope you all have a lovely Christmas.

Blood, Sweat and Tears?

Nearly didn't have time to write again this week. But I felt I had to say something about my MOMENTOUS NEWS. Our team ('Blood, Fish and Bone') won the local allotment society's quiznight challenge! OK, so we were almost beaten to the finish by the local dog training team, but it's results that count. We are going to have our name engraved on the challenge trophy (a large trowel), and have our picture taken. Yes, again. It hardly seems possible, does it? Actually, the allotment group really has been going well. We're produces loads of stuff. This week, as well as handing out produce to all our volunteers, I also managed to pack a large hamper for the A.G.M. no less. Evidently, it was much admired, and raised £40 in the raffle! Just as well I've something to be cheerful about, as the new house is proving somewhat of a stress factor. We've all kinds of workman clambering over it at present trying to make it halfway habitable. The latest setback is the solar power engineer informing us that in its current state the water cylinder could give us all Legionnaire's Disease! As much as I like to commemorate Remembrance Day, this isn't exactly what I'd planned...

Icelandic Meltdown

Sorry not to have written. I've been really busy with the new teaching term, and things have been going so well at the allotment, that I've really not had anything to write about! But today that has all changed, as I've just been noted that my esteemed Council has been putting all my hard earned Council Tax into Icelandic banks. Gordon Bennett! Things had already been hotting up in that department, as only two weeks ago I applied for a renewed Resident Parking Permit plus two Visitor Parking Permits (for H). When the letter arrived the Visitor Permits were nowhere to be seen. This meant dashing off another letter, of course. Anyway, I'd just received a letter from the Head of Customer Relations apologising for the oversight and enclosing my permits, when I heard the appalling news about the whereabouts of my Council Tax! Frankly, it has been a taxing week on all fronts. On Monday, Roland Garros went missing, only to return at 5.30 am (yes, I was waiting up for him, and yes, teaching the next day was rather difficult.) Then, yesterday I went to pick up two parcels at the Royal Mail and the git behind the counter almost refused to give them to me because I had not brought the square of cardboard with me that had been shoved through the door. I was then very surprised to find that the parcels were not the garlic and daffodil bulbs I was dressed to plant (perhaps this was why the Royal Mail employee treated me with so little respect?) , but a couple of QVC purchases I was trying to hide from H. So, I went up to allotment anyway and tried on my new trousers and jewelry. Well, we all need something to cheer us up in these difficult times...

The Turkish Bizarre...

I know I don't normally communicate with you midweek. But I'm all of a tingle. Why? I have just won second prize in an agricultural show. The mis-shapen vegetable contest! At last, I've found my true vocation...no, really, it wasn't me, it was my Turk's Turban Squash that got the honour. Rather pathetically, we came second to a potato, but you can't have everything. Actually, you can't have very much at all off my allotment this week. Just about all the seeds I planted two weeks ago (whose, appearance, I very much regret to say, I boasted about last week) have been killed off by flea beetles. Today, I was up there yet again, preparing yet another seed bed, this time hoping to grow some spring cabbages. This time I'm using free seeds from September's Grow It! magazine. And I tell you, I'd be only too happy to Grow It if something else didn't keep coming along to Eat It! Ohh, but I also have a hot tip. I needed something to protect my little Brussel Sprout plants from the cabbage white butterfly, and I found it! I unravelled an old Body Shop Bath Lily (a strange round thing made out of some kind of netting), cut the strip down the centre and voila, a perfect net! It's now held in place by a series of those little windmills that children play with at the beach and some pebbles. The whole thing looks quite high tech, like a miniature wind farm. Back in the garden things are beginning to take off too. The QVC begonias have started to flower and the pond is bursting with life. Wouldn't it be lovely now, to get some summer weather?

And the rest fell on good ground...

My word! Yesterday's post actually generated a query about what I'd been planting. Obviously, my previous conviction that there's nothing more to be done in an allotment as August approaches is a widely held assumption...this is precisely why Grow Your Own has a late summer seed promotion. Well, I've planted Swiss chard, radicchio, turnip, swede, Autumn carrot, Chinese leaves, and Japanese spinach. And they've all started to come up already! This is just as well, as the mizuna and rocket I'd grown on the back patch were overwhelmed by flea beetle. I just couldn't keep the ground damp enough. I know what I'm going to do, though. I'm going to plant a dastardly mix of Japanese salad leaves which absolutely nothing will touch with a barge pole (including, humans, incidently, if you're not careful to remove the more volcanic mustard varieties from the mix before they reach the table. H nearly had convulsions one supper time last year...). Then I'll just prize the mizuna leaves out. Ha! Anyway, back to the plot... We've also planted little cabbage, purple and white sprouting broccoli, and, wait for it, brussel sprouts! Why the exclamation? Because our Esteemed Leader banned us from planting these as he said they never grew well in our county. But Patrick said that's nonsense. So, we're going ahead, but we're pretending that the crop is Japanese Walking Stick Plants. What extraordinary subterfuge! And I've got a little line of kale too, which EL absolutely detests...We can expect fireworks, and well before November 5th, I fear. And I should mention too, that we are cropping regularly now. We've got an abundance of lollo roso (red lettuce, to you chum), tomatoes, and courgettes, not to mention the squashes just pouring out of the Victorian hotbed. And if all else fails, there's always more potatoes...It's a pity about all the hard work, though. I'm aching from top to toe today.

And some fell on stony ground...

Sorry not to have kept you up-to-date. Truth is, things have been pretty tiring round here since Patrick arrived. For a start, he's insisting that we continue to grow things all through the winter! This time last year, when things got a bit hot, we all mutually decided we'd had enough, covered the allotment with black plastic sheeting, and enjoyed weekly chats about our drug side-effects. But this year, we are planting, planting, planting. Unfortunately, I discovered that the wonderful mag, Grow Your Own, was offering a cornucopia of cheap seeds which the committee agreed I should send off for. I think then there was a decision made, without my knowledge, that I should also plant the seeds and keep them watered...for this is what I've been left doing. As we're in the middle of a hot patch (and I'm having hot flushes on account of my HRT dose being cut!) , this has been backbreaking and time consuming work. On the home front things have been equally taxing. I wake up most mornings to find the remains of some animal or other on the living room floor, and then comes the difficult decision-making process of working out how to sweep up these remains, and, even worse, which bin to put them in. Sometimes it's just all too much, so I make a cup of coffee and go back to bed. I'm in trouble with H again as I discovered that QVC was having a Christmas in July day, during which I made a whole series of quite delightful purchases. To make matters worse, I then went on to buy some wonderful half-price jackets in their fashion outlet sale. H's argument, of course, will be that I don't really need these jackets what with the abundance of black plastic sheeting I now have going to waste. This is a man who regularly goes to Dubai and returns giftless, moaning that there's too much gold in the duty-free shop...What's a gal to do?

Mudlarks

Thought I'd just fill you in on what happened yesterday, as I did actually go to the allotment in the end. You see, by ten o'clock it wasn't raining that hard, and I remembered a couple of people who'd said they were going didn't have keys to the shed, so I thought I'd better make my way there just in case anyone was silly enough to want to garden in the rain. There was no-one else about when I arrived, so I started planting out the last of the squashes that I've been growing on the windowsill. I plant these, if you want to know, in the middle of the runner bean rows, as they like the extra nutrition and the support the beans provide. I'd just finished this when I heard the merry tinkle of a bicycle bell. Who should it be but Patrick, arriving in the now heavy downpour without even a waterproof on. (No that sounds silly, he was dressed, you understand, he just lacked any waterproof outergarments). He'd cycled 15 miles! What a wonderful day for gardening! he proclaimed as he leapt from the saddle. I directed him to the ancient pile of horse manure that needing turning into our winter plot, and he started digging manically. I continued for about half an hour as the rain came pelting down at all angles, gathering in beans, turnips, onions, and even a few baby potatoes. Then I made for the shed where I had a cup of coffee from my flask and surveyed the damage. I was covered in mud from head to foot and my shoes were awash with water. Patrick went on and on and on, only returning at intervals to tell me what a great day it was, and how fabulous our soil is. I started feeling a nasty chill, if not full-blown pneumonia, coming on, and wondered if it would ever end. Suddenly, Patrick asked me what the time was. Mid-day, I said. Great! he replied, that's exactly when I'd decided to stop! And, Praise the Lord, stop he did. Immediately. Everything packed back in the shed in under five minutes. On the way home I stopped off at the charity office. That new man you sent me, I said, dripping muddy water all over their floor and oozing rotting vegetation from every orifice, he's absolutely mad! That's the point, they said. And indeed it is. But you don't expect it, somehow, of the volunteers.

Dyed in the Wool

Today promises enough rain for a month within 24 hours....summer continues, then, and I don't think much progress will be made on the allotment this week. So, I'll talk of other things. Like my visit to the carpet department of the new John Lewis emporium yesterday.(You remember the house I told you about a while back...the one I liked but H didn't? Well, it's now ours...). It was a memorable event. Seeing me tossing samples into the air, an assistant immediately came over (it works every time). What was Madam looking for? A white carpet, I said. That's not possible, he said. You can't have a white carpet because sheep are not white. They may look white, but in fact they're not. They are dirty grey. I blinked hard, and steadied myself on a pile of Axminster samples. But you seem to have the products of blue, yellow and purple sheep here, I noted. That's because you can easy dye the wool those colours but you can't dye it white. I felt my brain start to implode. Surely I was not to be beaten by a mere technicality? But then it got worse. Much worse. The awful man then directed me to....I hardly dare say it....THE SHAGPILES!!! How dare he, I thought. And after I'd taken the trouble to daub myself with Chanel No5 as I passed through the perfume department, too. I glared at him and he scurried away, after showing me the drawers holding the tiny take-home squares. I helped myself to every off white, pure wool and utterly expensive sample I could find and then headed off to the Brasserie for breakfast. Phew, I'd only made it by ten minutes! My waitress (yes, my waitress, I always get very special service in the Brasserie as I order the smoked salmon breakfast...), didn't seem that interested in carpets at first, but I soon had her sitting at my table discussing samples as the other diners (breakfasters?) looked on in disbelief...

'Tis a Strange Wind...'

Strange goings on continue here. Last week I alerted the Council's environmental rag to my existence as ultimate upholder of all that is green and pure. The very next day my bin and associated box were not emptied. Left on the street for all to see! I'm trying to see this as just innocent coincidence, but it's hard not to be paranoid. What was wrong with my bin? Was it too heavy for the men to balance on two fingers? Perhaps the box contained an un-recyclable item. I know these are both dire offences. Am I the next British citizen to be 'outed' on the six o'clock news? It really got the wind up my tail I can tell you. This wasn't helped by the real wind that was blowing all last week around these parts. So strong it clear knocked my hat off during Royal Ascot. And I was only watching it on the tele. (It's important to do these things in style...Not QVC style, you understand, just style.). The allotment is going well. Our leader didn't turn up once again this week, so we got some work done and no-one suffered dire injury. We're cropping our broad beans, salad items and bunches of herbs. Our strawberries are so sweet and delicious they can be eaten without the need either for cream or sugar. I've cleared the area that was once under our horse manure for winter crops, and am looking forward to darling Patrick returning from his short holiday...

St Patrick's Day

Relax everyone. Despite all appearances to the contrary this blog has not been abandoned! My long silence has been due to a strange, almost otherwordly, happenings at the allotment. We have been blessed with an Angel! This Angel, called Patrick, arrived two weeks ago, and He has transformed my humble life completely. Patrick not only has penetrating blue eyes and muscular tanned legs, but also KNOWS HOW TO GARDEN. Actually not only this, he also gardens with a speed and enthusiasm that would put even a pre-stroke Monty Don to shame. For the first time in months, things are starting to happen. This week, in two hours, he pruned our apples trees, finished planting up a new plot, and found time to provide each of us with a running commentary on all we were doing. When he said I'd done a good job of digging a ditch (lined with cardboard and well-rotted manure to aid water retention) for our borloti beans I wanted to fall at his feet and kiss the earth...This is how it is with Angels. Our leader was away. It was BLISS. Of course H is none to happy about all these goings on. Things between us are tense at present as he has put a total trade embargo on my dealings with QVC. I can only resume when my trade deficit is zero...This shouldn't affect you too much as I'd already bought all the plants for the year, and I doubt that you want to know about all my fabulous wardrobe and lifestyle purchases from that delightful emporium. Suffice to say, I'm now living in somewhat straitened circumstances (I've no idea how to spell 'straitened' because I've never had need of the word before...), with a large hole in my life where my credit card used to be. And this just before the start of Royal Ascot too...What's a gal supposed to do?

Skating on Thin Ice

It's been a heartbreaking week. First I went up to the allotment on Wednesday and discovered all my courgettes, half my corn, and two of my tomato plants had been killed off by an overnight frost. Then, on Friday, came the news that Monty Don had suffered a mild stroke and will no longer present Gardeners' World. I really didn't want to face my friend to tell her what had happened to her plants. Luckily, she was so sedated she examined the grizzly evidence of the brown muck that was all that was left of her squash plants with admirable aplomb. It was our leader who almost collapsed over the stricken hotbed, mumbling, 'I had no idea, there was no sign of frost in my village.' He reacted like a kind old grandpa, offering to buy me some more courgettes...not even arguing when I insisted these should be not just any old courgettes but the yellow and Italian ones I really like. Finally, of course, there's been the fiasco of the Eurovision Song Contest. Last again! I have to admit here I actually voted for the Russian entry as soon as I realised the iceskater was none other than Evgeny Plushenko who I absolutely adore beyond all measure. Bloody Terry Wogan...yes, he of the Testicular Wardrobe Malfunction... didn't even know who he was! (H and I also liked the Spanish entry as we were following all the dance moves by the end. We both thought it was the best representation of European Culture since the Chicken Song). Anyway, I think the right entry won, so there.
Oh, and another thing before I go. I had an e-mail from James suggesting I grow some carrots between the rows of onions as then they would be protected from carrot fly. James, for heaven's sake, don't you understand anything? I am not allowed to grow ANYTHING between the onions as these are the sole property of our revered leader, who is not at all possessive (unlike me).

All out war!

Don't want to talk about the allotment this week, owing to a major fracas concerning broad beans in which I was accused of i)picking the 'wrong-sized' beans and ii) being overly possessive about beans. It ended with a male person almost getting the 'wrong-sized' beans stuffed up his nostrils (where, quite incidently, far from being the wrong size, they would have been a perfect fit...). No, today I think I'll engage you with my recent trip to Lakeland as I have purchased their new 'biocide' liquid soap, which promises 'all out germ warfare', and one of their kitchen caddies for collecting my kitchen waste hygenically (You can tell I have been left slightly unhinged by H's recent experiences). The latter---kitchen caddies not husbands---are supposed to be offered free by the Council, but the last time I went in and enquired about them (going through every single cupboard in the Environmental Office with the man with the gorgeous Irish accent), there weren't any left. Despite being assured that I would be informed the MOMENT new ones came in, I have never received one. Hence, for the last six months or so, my kitchen has become ever more slippery as it has filled up with organic waste. How fortunate that my bins, with their professional cleaning service, are clean enough to eat my dinner off! And the garden is looking lovely. I'm going to try and upload some more pics onto the slideshow for you. The new clematis looks great as a backdrop for the lungworts and we have some new lush growth in the pond. I've planted some Eupatorium plants. These are supposed to be ultra attractive to butterflies, and love living in damp conditions. They are quite difficult to get hold of, but if you fancy growing them they can be found on the excellent Hayloft Plants website.

As Sick as a Parrot

Phew. Hardly know where to start this week. First, within two hours of touching down at Gatwick after a trip to Angola, H was rushed to hospital with suspected malaria. A highly tense week ensued during which time I managed to pull the curtain rail down on my head in the living room and detach the bathroom cabinet from the wall, as well buying over 15 items from QVC (one of the symptoms of BP2 is spending money when stressed..). To top it all, we had a local radio reporter visiting the allotment on the Friday. I was highly anxious about this because our leader told me I was going to be the one interviewed and I had to say ALL THE RIGHT THINGS about our charity. As I have never in my entire life said all the right things about anything, I became very jittery but doggedly practised my intended speech all week to Roland Garros who seemed impressed enough to purr loudly at the more dramatic bits ("The week we set out to build the Victorian Hotbed was a particularly difficult one..."). However, when we actually got to the plot our leader hogged the whole thing and I was left parroting out the odd comment in a high wind. As by that time I couldn't even remember the names of the crops I'd planted, I'm sure to come over a complete moron (what's new?). Anyway, it's all come good now, as we've discovered H only has Shigella, which is a bacterial infection that causes dysentery. He's mended the house and complained loudly about the large hole in the bank account. Luckily, I can send all my mania-induced QVC purchases back. This is a good tip for all you bipolars out there...the crazy shopping is probably incurable, so make sure you do it somewhere where you get that 30 day money back guarantee!

The Trial

It was tough on the allotment today. First there was an argument concerning onions. During the week I'd noticed we had very large gaps between our onion rows so I suggested we plant some lettuce and radish seeds in them. Our leader totally pooh poohed this and said we were going to start proceedings by planting more onions. I flipped. No, I shouted, we are not planting more onions. We have enough onions. I'm sick to death of onions. Glaring ensued. So to cool things off I said, why don't we get some more potatoes done? You know how much you like those...And so we continued for a while on a newly dug over piece of plot, he at one end and I at the other. Silently digging ditches with our spades. I did a row, he did a row. I started a second row and then did my watering rounds of all the stuff I now have under the glass of the hotbed and the coldframe while another (much less argumentative) volunteer finished the ditch. I was just bringing over a wheelbarrow of horse manure to put in the ditch (as we all know, when planting potatoes, we dig the ditch, put in the manure, and then nestle the potatoes upright in it) when I noticed our leader was putting his potatoes in without manure. So I said, hey, wait I'll put the manure in. Our leader then straightened himself and said, Don't tell me how to plant potatoes! The manure goes in afterwards...To help things along my friend came up at that point and said, I put the manure in first, but then I put the potatoes really deeply into it, so it's all round them. So it makes no difference, our leader shouted, NO DIFFERENCE AT ALL! To placate him, I said I was sure it wouldn't make any difference...anyway we would soon find out if it did as we had made the perfect experimental trial (possibly the first of its kind in the world): two rows of pre-planting manuring versus two rows of post-planting manuring. Afterwards, over coffee, our leader admitted that I had been right about one thing: we do have enough onions. But I am still banned from planting lettuces between the rows. I'm now trying to persuade my friend to take up her bloody leeks from the far side of the allotment so I can plant some more salad there. Silly woman didn't even know you could freeze leeks. Whatever next?

Bin Laden Caught

I really am all of a quiver this morning after yesterday's top story in the lunchtime news. And although I wouldn't normally write to you twice in a week, I felt I just had to make an exception this time. Did you hear that a man has been convicted of having a bin lid open in public? You think all my wittering about the bin mafia has been a delusion, don't you? But it's all true, I tell you. Other countries have gone about this recycling lark for years, calmly, and with no undue fuss. Here in the UK we are turning energy saving into energy slaving, living every moment in fear that we will be found out for some dire mistake. But why are we allowing ourselves to be sold into this slavery? I blame it on the war, myself. Not the second world war (which we blame for most things), but the war in Iraq. We all know we shouldn't be there and we feel a massive collective guilt in our completely unwarranted decimation of another country. We are full of unbearable guilt, This guilt must be dumped somewhere. Projection. Freud called it. Anyway, what better place to dump than in a bin. Let's suddenly get all hoity toity about saving the world, so we can blinker ourselves to the political devastation we are really causing. I have mixed feelings. On the one hand I'm glad that so many people seem to be thinking the same way that I have thought (and acted) for the last 30 years, and, on the other, well aware, that, as soon as the war ends, this country will happily return burying itself in its own landfill...to put it politely. Yes, I am perfectly OK, thanks, and I'm taking my tablets. Yesterday was a glorious day, and I spent most of it planting parsnips again. But, honestly, do you realise that the poor man mentioned about now has a criminal record which will last for the rest of his life? For leaving a lid open? And was this really an appropriate way for the BBC to celebrate 'Earth Day' on its major news broadcast? Come on all you Wheelie Peelers, give us a break!

Saving Tibet

Did my bit for the people of Tibet this week: I planted four Goji bushes in their honour on the allotment. Once again we're at the cutting age of the Green Revolution here: Goji berries are supposed to have the highest nutritional qualities of any fruit in the world, and they evidently tolerate all manner of mismanagement. I'll try not to get too political here, but just say they should fit right in on the allotment, where, this week, our leader managed to lose all the pink fir potatoes we were hoping to plant. I should say at this point that our shed is currently full of all manner of other potatoes which none of us asked to grow, but which we'll probably have to plant (His back's gone again). One of our clients has decided to take matters into her own hands and has taken over a strip of our secondary plot. Working alone one Saturday morning she got the whole lot dug over and ready for planting----previously two of our men had taken a month to do a tenth of it. It's amazing what sheer frustration and anger can empower one to do! Another fabulous breakthrough: she managed to get us a brand new cold frame through Freecycle (of which I have spoken before). My window sill is now filling up with sweetcorn and I've just set up a little plug plant mini-greenhouse filled with Brussel Sprout seeds to give to another client to grow on (this is one of the advantages of shopping with QVC; a lot of the plants come in these re-useable containers). We all know now we have to fight our leader's obsession with potatoes (especially when he loses the only ones we actually want to plant!). I've been filling the allotment as fast as I can with any seed I can get my hands on: carrots, turnips, parsnips, radishes....They were all free offers in this month's gardening magazines, if you want to know. Two of the mags are offering ten whole free packets... Get out there now while stocks last! There's nothing like poor leadership to test one's survival instinct (it's worth thinking about this...).

The Pace Quickens

Hardly know where to start this week, so much has happened. This being the Easter hols, I went up to the allotment on my own last week as well as on Friday and planted out an entire salad section, and, dare I say it, peas. You'll remember we've been banned by our leader from growing these, as he things they harbour all manner of dangerous diseases. But I couldn't held myself, especially as I'd found some T&M RHS winners which are supposed to be highly disease resistant. Well, I have to be honest, what really got me going in this direction was seeing Monty Don doing it on Gardeners' World (Doing what? Planting peas, of course. Oh but that man...what I wouldn't do with him behind the potting shed...). I got so carried away, I even went back this week and planted some more, using some discarded metal edging stuff I'd found to make some lovely meandering shapes. Should look very pretty as I can plant the marigolds in the 'loops' of the turns. I had to play it very nicey nicey with our leader on Friday, and even planted out some potatoes for him, as well as politely offering him his coffee instead of half throwing it at him as I usually do (Problem with Authority Figures? What me?). Meanwhile at home I'm busily deadheading all my daffs as well as watching the wealth of plants coming up on my window sill. I now have an abundance of courgettes and some squashes which should be ready to put out in the hot beds in May. I've also started on a sweetcorn variety that promises to perform even in the wettest summers (which is more than I can promise, even with the HRT). In the midst of all this, H and I went collecting again for our charity, this time outside a rather nice upmarket garden centre instead of Tescos, and next day managed to celebrate our wedding anniversary by having a scrummy fish lunch at the Loch Fyne restaurant, after which we went to see a Swedish film called 'You, the Living'. The latter was absolutely hilarious, thought completely incomprehensible. A bit like life really. I wonder how long I can keep up this hectic pace...For those of you wishing to learn about the history of the potato, there is a new website to help you. It's http://www.growfruitandveg.co.uk/. What a read... And you can enter a competition to win an eglu too!