I had plans to write and organise my ever growing pile of paperwork this weekend. Instead? I toiled and tilled the patch of earth outside my kitchen window - sometimes referred to as the allotment, more commonly referred to as 'that sodding mess'.
I share the allotment with my good friend and neighbour, H. It's all rather Amish. I enjoy the allotment a great deal more when we are out there together. Two people working together seems to get three people's amount of work done singly.
We have different approaches but it seems to work:
- I wear gloves, H does not
- I like doing the edges, and mowing (I worry that I have masculine gardening tendencies)
- H can dig over a bed in 10 minutes flat, I'm still finding my flowery wellies
- I like a nice row of salad veg, H likes parsnips and potatoes
- H can stick a twig in the ground and it will grow, I need greenhouse assistance and even then, germination can be haphazard
Well, as usual, we got a little carried away. I have a border fork which makes me feel as if I am cultivating a field with a toothbrush. Two minutes in to the weeding we started to mutter about rotovating and fixing the contraption that has been in my garage for about five years and used precisely twice due to various mechanical defects.
'R and C have a rotovator'
'Are they in?'
'Let's go and ask'
Within fifteen minutes of contemplating mechanical intervention, the rotovator stood proudly above our weed infested plot.
I suspect we've done a mad allotmenting thing. It is likely that we have chopped all the dying weeds (I had an inorganic moment a couple of weeks ago with a bulk-buy purchase of weedkiller) into tiny pieces and re-invigorated their growing potential but, frankly, who cares. That sodding mess looks like an allotment now.
We also planted squash and courgettes and pumpkins, controversially, through plastic matting stuff. They survived the weekend but will need constant supervision.
Roasted veg for dinner? We hope so, sometime around September