'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!