Couch Potato

An evening of wind and showers. Occasional glimpses outside to make sure my crab apple withstands the gale.

Inside, time to watch the first of the new series of BBC’s venerable, gentle, informative, middle class Gardeners’ World.

Local interest: a short piece on the mazzard trees of Landkey. Mazzards, apparently, are often thought to be a type of cherry, a wild cherry even. But, as the local on TV said: “there’s cherries and there’s mazzards. And that’s the difference.”

Monty Don was chitting his potatoes, so I have good company.

No digging this weekend as I’m off to visit my parents in Hampshire. It’s a week off work from Monday, so the fork and spade come out.

Splash

No, that’s not the sound of wellie through puddles – it did rain during the weekend digging.

Instead, that’s part of the latest joke about my digging efforts. My trench has, so I hear, raised some merriment and consternation up at the allotments.

“Is it a drainage system?” asked Barry.

“No, it’s a swimming pool” I answered.

Despite the mizzle of Saturday, there was enough dry to dig for five hours or so before collapsing in front of the Six Nations’ rugby. On Sunday, I got in another 2 hours before the rains came and there was a the small matter of cheering on the Spurs in the Carling Cup final in the afternoon.

After digging the original trench a few weeks back, I hit the books to do the research I should have done before.

Actually, I had done some reading: over several years. The voluminous RHS book on Fruit and Veg told me all I needed to know about the various techniques of digging. And, there was no shortage of advice from the massed ranks of allotment holders and former tenants.

Double digging had been ruled out in my head. Despite it being my dad’s sworn method (of breaking his back), the plot doesn’t lend itself. Just below one spits worth of soil lies a layer of broken rock. Shale, I’m told. I hit it when the digging started.

A basic dig over was never going to do the job. Too many perennial weeds and taproots needed to come out. More to the point, that’s not proper digging. You have to suffer to get the job done properly.

In addition to the advice, Bill had offered his chickens. And, they have done a good job over pecking out weeds at the front of the plot. There was talk of a rotovator. There was even talk of a plough.

But, both of the last two methods would not deal properly with the roots. The plot is already riddled with bits of taproots thanks to the last ploughing job a year or so ago.

Just as well that single digging was my chosen method.

Saturday also saw the appearance of my other weed control method. We got hold of a large piece of carpet through Freecycle. It seemed large as I hauled out of the car. It soon disappeared once on the plot.

By Sunday lunch I had finished digging a plot about 5 metres by 2. That will serve nicely to fit in the onions and garlic. Work also began on another trench.

However, no water wings required.

We’re Official!

A summons from the Parish Council plopped on the porch floor about 2 weeks ago. No, I haven’t been evicted (which would be ironic as I hadn’t taken up the tenancy). It was a letter inviting allotment holders to a special council meeting to discuss the new tenancy agreement.

(Sidenote: still no confirmation from the Parish Clerk about my request to share allotment 5.)

As far as anyone can make out, Blackhorse allotment holders (the site is named after the defunct Black Horse pub) have had no formal agreement since some time in the 1930s. Plots have been allocated, rents collected. But, no piece of paper, no rules, no regulations.

That’s all changed. For a number of opaque and some obvious reasons, the Parish Council has drawn up a formal tenancy agreement complete with rules and regulations to be enforced. Or ignored.

It would have been nice if the council had circulated the agreement to all concerned beforehand. About a third of us hadn’t had a sniff of it. Even better, they could have set up a committee with a couple of allotmenteers to help draft the rules. No, that would be sensible.

So, the meeting was another farcical episode in local democracy. The chairman started out by saying that the intention was to get us to sign our agreements. On opening the meeting to the floor for questions, we then spent 45 minutes crawling over what seems a hastily put together document.

Why is the path 9 feet wide when many allotment holders have put their fences or whatever as little as 8 feet from the other side of the path.

Sheds. That was a contentious issue. Maximum size 6 feet by 4. “Does that mean that I can’t have my 8 foot by 4 foot shed that I share with another plot holder?”

Weedfree (sic)? Marginally unenforceable.

The council’s excuse was that they had to at least get something down on paper. So why didn’t they set up a drafting committee beforehand?

Anyhow. The council has about as much chance of enforcing the agreements as I have of winning a gold medal at the Chelsea Flower Show.

I eventually get to sign the agreement. As an afterthought, I’m told that the council will pay to plough my half plot as it was left in an uncultivated state. As I’ve already begun digging and ploughing won’t get out the weeds, I decline. For that I get a free year!

Allotment 5½ is now legal.

Thought for the day

From the Quote Garden:

“Plant carrots in January and you’ll never have to eat carrots.”

Or in my case, don’t plant carrots. I can’t be doing with carrot fly and whatnot.

A Bitty, Unproductive Weekend

It was not a particularly productive weekend. I had other hobbies to attend to.

Having said that, after reading all the digging advice (note to self: read advice before carrying out the task), I think the plot needs more time to dry out.

And, it was cold. The thermometer dipped below 0°C last night.

Only a few jobs were completed.

The active compost bin was topped up with kitchen peelings and shredded paper. Both bins got a good tumble. (Bin 1 is nearly ready though it contains some flower stalks that weren’t cut up properly.)

The strawberry planter has had a blanket wrapped around it most of the last 2 weeks worth of cold snap.

I even brought in the onion sets from the porch where there temperature was around zero. Hopefully they will be okay by the door and won’t start to sprout.

Finally, we had a trip to B&Q for a couple of mega-bags of compost and a terracotta pot for my crab apple tree, my Valentine’s Day present.

The poor little twig has been sitting in the gloom under the stairs since the 13th. First, I didn’t have a big enough pot in which to plant it. Second, I don’t think it would survive the cold. So, it’ll just have to lurk for a few more days.

Chitty-Chitty-Spud-Spud

The potatoes are chitting away nicely.

They have been set out in the bathroom and spare bedroom, the lightest spots in the house.

Lady Christl – the earlies – and Desiree – the main crop.

It’ll be at least a month before the beds are ready for sowing. In the meantime, tubers have already appeared.

Potatoes and (an)other thing(s)

A parcel was awaiting my return from work. That’s the spuds delivered then.

Now all I need to do is find trays for chitting and a nice dry, airy and light place to leave them. In this cold, damp and dark house that will be a challenge.

I’m too tired to go into the whole chitting debate. Apparently “garden guru” and”TV personality” Monty Don says that chitting – more or less encouraging your seed potatoes to sprout before planting – does little for crop yield.

Who am I to argue with a “guru”? Well, it becomes a moot point as I’m at least 3-4 weeks off of planting the seed potatoes. They’ll chit nicely.

I’m just back from the gardeners’ club committee meeting. There is one and one only nomination so far for the new committee. That’d be me then.

Not much luck on finding brave souls to drive forward into our second year. We have until next Thursday to find volunteers.

Meanwhile, it seems as though we’ve been acting unconstitutionally for the last couple of months.

With a committee member resignation we are down to three officers and two committee members. Checking the consitution this evening, we are supposed to have at least three committee members. Also, the AGM is supposed to be held in March and not February.

Sack the committee!

Committee meeting – tomorrow

Tomorrow sees an important meeting of the Buckland Brewer Gardeners’ Club.

Our first Annual General Meeting is scheduled for 21 February. It might be our last.

The driving force behind the club, the chairman and secretary, have announced their intention to step down for one reason or another. In fact, they both said at the beginning of the club last February that they would give it a year: set up the club and leave it to others to drive forward.

At the inaugural meeting I put my hand up to volunteer. It was simply an attempt to get to know people in the village. It’s helped and I now feel – perhaps for the first time in my life – part of a community. As a committee member I’ve done my bit. I set up a crude website (which is very lonely, by the way); come up with a few ideas; snapped some photos at the “Fun Evening”.

So far it looks like there’s no new blood to take up the reins.

Would be a shame to see it fail.  But, I’m on a promise not to volunteer to do more than I already do.

Herbs – one week on

Back indoors, there has been a bit of (upward) movement with the herbs.

Both pots of marjoram have germinated and the little sprouts have poked out for a peak. The ones in the relative warmth of the kitchen seem a bit less timid. Upstairs the sprouts get drowned with each watering – no matter how gentle I am.

Three pots of basil are perched on the landing with a south aspect. This evening it is easy to see the tiny sprouts developing leaves. (They’ll taste nice in lasagna – tonight’s dinner.)

Yeah, basil’s easy. But, you need to watch the watering and last year’s crop got a bit furry.

Oh, that alfalfa crop from last week has now been eaten. Another two batches are on the sprouter trays.

U dig

Another day; another couple of hours digging; another afternoon of sore back.

A plan of sorts unfolded for the second morning in a row. I wound up in a u-bend. Flanking trenches now define the layout of the first bed.

Again without a straight edge or measuring device. I resorted to measurement by Wellington boot: nearly 9 by just over 18. Works out to something like 5 metres wide by 2 metres deep. That is plenty big enough for the (sort of) planned garlic and onion bed.

Another stunningly beautiful day with no wind, brilliant sunshine burning off a morning mist and a temperature of about 10°C.

The usual suspects were up at the allotments: Philip, Alex and Bill. A bit later on Mancs (not his real name) and, I presume, another aspirant allotmenteer wandered up.

Even with gloves, my hands hurt.