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...

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?

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?

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!

Lights, Camera, Action....

What a week! On Friday it was tipping down with rain again, but this time we managed to get to a garden centre whose location was actually known to our driver. We bought a damson and a green gage tree---both should be magnificent for both blossom and jam-making fruit. My delight was compounded by finding that back at home my wonderful Peruvian mittens (special offer and sale, The Guardian Newspapers...), AND six Erysimum Constant Cheer had turned up. I don't know if you've heard of these. They are like wallflowers except they are hardy and they have the most magnificent flowers which turn from orange through to purple as the summer progresses. They grow just about anywhere and are as tough as boots. I got them through the shopping channel, QVC, which, I've just discovered, is not to be sniffed at when it comes to plants. Anyway, as I'm sure you all know, Saturday provided us with the most grotty weather imaginable, and I spent all day watching films that I've ordered from 'the sofa cinema'---another Guardian creation and so good for those inclined to depression during these winter months...But I had no time for depression, because today I was called to a major PR event! A hundred of us gathered in one of Cambridge's parks to advertise the fact that our charity is 100 years old, and that it supports one in four of the population that suffer from mental health problems. Guess what we did? We all dressed up in T-shirts---a quarter of which were blue and the rest white. Then we gathered on chairs arranged in the shape of one hundred, while cameramen hoisted on fireengines took our pictures (I kid you not...). It was freezing cold and everything apart from my hands (covered, of course, in my delightful Peruvian gloves) shrivelled up. We had to do it over and over again, sitting down, standing up, looking forward, looking up, hands down, hands up. I never realised how gruelling the life of a top model could be! Afterwards I swanked into one of Cambridge's top restaurants and explained to all and sundry that my slightly over-ethnic appearance was due to 'An absolutely shattering photo-shoot...' before slumping dramatically on one of their designer chairs. Then I had a delicious steak with handcut chips. Oh heaven!