Epic fail in the healthy eating stakes this weekend, when Number Two Son spat out my lovingly prepared Leek, Wensleydale and Pear Quiche, dismissing it as ‘rank’ and reaching for the freezer door in search of pizza. Some you win…
|Stretching out after a spot of digging|
The leeks came from the allotment, where they had been successfully overwintered. At this time of year, the plot looks rather bleak. Most of it is covered with cardboard and old carpet where dormant beds lie waiting for spring sowing. The only stuff still being harvested, apart from the leeks, is Jerusalem artichokes. I have a theory that come the day when the world finally gives up on us, the cockroaches will have these tenacious vegetables to feast on. They are, like the bugs, indestructible. Note to self: four roots of Jerusalem artichokes is three too many.
An allotment is a great place to work on my mindfulness skills, because there is plenty to stimulate the senses. On my last trip, there was a particularly good challenge for my sense of smell, as the air was filled with the heady mix of cow muck and two-stroke, this latter from the trial bikes that hurtle up and down in an adjacent field.
Best treat for the sense of touch, though, is when I get home and clean my hands with warmed olive oil and sugar. Mmm.