Digging in

Our allotment has received so much attention in the last three months that it looks as though it has been Hoovered. All but one of the beds are full, the ridings have been mown: even the shed has been tidied. It's an ill wind, as they say.

There are quite a few relatively new folks up there whom we old hands have been watching from a respectful distance as they get to grips with the enormity of the task ahead of them. Captivated by the idea of delicious homegrown veg, they often underestimate the hard slog involved and many give up at the first sign of trouble. One of our near neighbours has said she won't be up on the field for a while because it's too hot to do anything!

The allotment is, of course, a fine place to find inspiration for story-writing. You'd be surprised what goes on. We once arrived find that a potting shed had been completely turned upside-down. Nothing had been taken and, miraculously, there was no major damage, but there it was, on its roof. What larks!

There are some interesting sights among the polytunnels and the bean rows. There is, for instance, an entire army of scarecrows, including one made from a tailor's dummy, which is very sinister. Then there's this, the last resting place of the garden gnomes who didn't make it through:

I wonder what these little fellas did wrong.

Breathing space

When you're self-employed, Bank Holidays can be a good time to catch up with admin, secure in the knowledge that any clients with 'proper jobs' won't be interrupting you. That's what I'm doing this morning, pottering about and shuffling papers; but the rest of the weekend will be dedicated to relaxation and restoration, whatever the weather throws at me.

Mr Thorley has reported sorrowfully that according to his allotment spreadsheet (don't judge), we are already a month behind compared to last year's planting schedule. The old adage about watching the weather not the calendar has never been truer. The lack of onion sets in the ground is the talk of the field, I can tell you! Nevertheless, he has gone off this morning, with his spade over his shoulder, to do 'something'.

So while it's peaceful at home, I'm going to take a look at some short stories I have lurking. I was one of the short-listed writers in the Words Magazine Short Story, so that tale needs moving from the 'can't be used' file to the 'needs a home' file. Then I shall return to my Lee Child book. I can't get enough of this writer.

Have a lovely weekend, folks.

CTST 23 June

I fully intended to post something midweek, but I was away last weekend in Brancaster, Norfolk, for a quick fix of sun, sea and sand. I seem to have relaxed too much, because this week has felt very stodgy!

Today I'm celebrating the start of what looks as though it's going to be a good harvest up at the allotment. We've already had lots of spinach and strawberries, the first batch of broad beans is in the freezer and the second early spuds are delicious. I've just cooked the first beetroots. They look a bit odd because they're white (don't worry: they're supposed to be), so I hope they taste OK...

I'm also celebrating independent bookshops, because I've just been to one of ours: Harrowden Books of Finedon, where a very helpful woman showed me where to find some poetry books I was after.

We're having a belated Father's Day meal this evening, because we were away on Sunday. Gammon, for those who eat meat, with, of course, homegrown veg.

These are NOT turnips

Have a good weekend, folks.

Ah - a long weekend beckons

It has been an uneventful week, other than the usual mix of work and wotnot. I've done quite a bit of word-wrangling and teaching, and managed to fit in a couple of urban walks, too.

Chief celebration, however, is that we have a new neighbour at the allotment - and from the start he's made on his digging I'd say he's going to be a welcome addition to our community. His plot has been untended for several months, so it's lovely to see the weeds coming down and the soil being turned.

This wilderness is disappearing

We have a few music events on locally over the next couple of days, included one that is being organised by number two son, so I think we shall be sitting back with a pint and letting the entertainers do their thing.

Have a good weekend, folks.

Celebrate the Small Things  is a blog hop. Visit Lexa's Blog for the rules, and then post every Friday about something you're grateful  for that week. Originated by VikLit) and co-hosted by L.G. Keltner @ Writing Off The Edge and Tonja Drecker @ Kidbits Blog 

Have you got that Friday feeling?

Another week has gone past without my having found the time to post anything between CTST contributions: sorry. I am surrounded by people with lots of good things to celebrate: exam results for some, new ventures for others, and I wish them well. My own celebrations are, as usual, more modest:

• Yet more bounty from the allotment; the plums have been dealt with - the wasps are welcome to whatever fruit is left on the trees
• I have finished a commissioned article ahead of time
• I've been out to lunch twice this week, and have a family dinner with my 'boys' to look forward to later this evening

Have a lovely weekend, folks, summer lightning notwithstanding. 

Celebrate the Small Things  is a blog hop. Visit Lexa's Blog for the rules, and then post every Friday about something you're grateful  for that week. Originated by VikLit) and co-hosted by L.G. Keltner @ Writing Off The Edge and Tonja Drecker @ Kidbits Blog 
 

Currant affairs

There is a part of me that wishes we hadn't been quite so efficient in our netting of the currant bushes at the allotment.

I like a fruit crumble as much as the next woman, but you can have too much of a good thing. There is an entire drawer in my freezer now filled with boxes of blackcurrants nestling in sugar, in anticipation of tarts and cheesecake; I have jars of jams and jellies lined up on my shelves; I have made cordial (which, incidentally, has given me an  insight into why Ribena is so expensive); and I am mid-way through making a vat of blackcurrant vinegar.  There is the gentle drip-drip-drip of the jelly bag in the front room and the bloop-bloop-bloop of wine fermenting under the stairs. Think of a way to process a currant and I've probably done it.

It looks as though the three or four pounds I still have in the colander will be the last for this year, however. I shall have cleared the fruity decks in time for the courgettes, which are already starting to make their presence felt.

My allotment challenge

I still have a few veg in the freezer from last year's harvest (mostly beans), as well as spuds and onions in storage. We are also still digging up leeks and Jerusalem (f)artichokes from the allotment plot. Nevertheless the new season's planting has begun and yesterday the garlic went in. Actually, it's a bit late, because folklore says it should be planted on the Shortest Day and gathered on the Longest Day. However, folklore also says you should watch the weather, not the calendar.

Lest you be tempted to sign up for your own plot as part of your New Year New Me campaign, let me share a few home truths with you. A standard 10-pole plot is a lot of work. Never mind what they say on the dire TV show The Big Allotment Challenge, it's not about having pea pods of uniform length or being able to weave a hat out of geraniums. It's about sticking at it in all weathers, digging, hoeing, strimming, tilling and weeding on your hands and knees; scratting around for free scraps of carpet and wood offcuts to make paths and barriers; mud; tenacious brambles and vicious nettles; the roof felt blowing off your shed; edging panels falling over; slugs and ants; birds and rabbits pinching your seedlings; and, if there are chickens on the site, rats - sometimes half-eaten rats. Still want a plot?

It's also about unwanted human visitors who sit in your shed smoking weed and drinking Stella and who leave their debris behind and occasionally work off with something; and people on the adjacent footpath who lob their empty bottles and crisp packets over the fence; and, most annoying of all, folk on neighbouring plots who don't keep their patch under control.

Now the good news. It's about getting back to basics and feeling close to nature; camaraderie, sharing knowledge and learning from your neighbours; the satisfaction of seeing something grow from a seed the size of a speck of dust into a sturdy eight-foot plant; and the rewards of tasty veg grown without chemicals, a full freezer and pots of homemade jams and pickles.

Everybody needs good neighbours

We chose to trust the BBC weather forecast and spent Saturday and Sunday up at the allotment harvesting yet more courgettes and beans, and digging up what seems a ridiculously large quantity of potatoes. I really don't know where we are going to store them all.

I was given the job of editing the empty beds: that is to say, restoring order by removing the weeds, digging the whole thing over and covering with carpet until needed again. By the end of the yesterday, the plot was looking quite impressive, although I say so myself.

The same cannot be said for our neighbour's plot. I mean: just look at it!

Any day now, those yellow weeds and thistles will be heavy with seed heads, ready to contaminate our allotment and probably several others. We never see the woman who has this plot. Nothing ever seems to move. Certainly, there is little sign that any veg are growing. It makes me SO mad!

On the other hand, her laziness has resulted in lots of brambles, which are laden with blackberries that we are all enjoying. It's an ill wind...

Season's greetings

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.

Training!

It’s the Sport Relief Mile in a couple of weeks’ time and since I’ve signed up to run I thought that this morning I ought to see if I can actually manage 1,760 yards without keeling over

So I jogged to the allotment, which is about half a mile from home. Nothing to it. Managed it comfortably. Piece of cake. My husband was waiting for me by the gate. He had opted to drive there: ‘just in case you trip and need a lift home’. Nothing to do him with not being fit enough to run with me, you understand.

How green was my garlic

We had a walk round the plot. The last few leeks need coming up now, but there are of signs of new growth. The spring cabbage has come on apace in the last week, and there is plenty going on in the garlic bed and the soft fruit patch. But there is also lots of hard work to be done, so having given my opinion I left hubby to it and set off home again.

What I hadn’t reckoned on was that it’s uphill on the way back, a challenge not helped by the fact that I also had serious clumps of mud stuck to my trainers. I’m sure it was still only half a mile, but it seemed longer. I didn’t stop, but I was glad when I reached our house. It was only the fact that there were people about it and I didn’t want them to see me faltering that kept me going!

But it’s all in a good cause. I might not be pushing myself as hard as David Walliams, and I’m certainly not going to be raising as much as he did on his fantastic swim along the Thames, but I want to do my bit. Every little helps - and sponsorship is always gratefully received.