Last year was a disaster. All that effort; all that mollycoddling; the blanket; the liquid feed. All of that was in vain.
My potato in a pot came in with a miserable half-a-pound of cruddy little spuds.
The competition winner’s pot was bursting with tubers. It was a tuba full of tubers, even.
This year. This year will be better.
I’ve got my plans, but they’re secret. I’m not telling you (even though no one reads this blog).
We had advice last week from Nick Oliver of St John’s Garden Centre who spoke at the gardeners’ club. I’ll keep that advice to myself too.
Yep. This year, my spuds are going bulge out of the bucket.
Only the most elliptical of updates will you find here.
Yesterday was a secret planting, without ceremony and without photography.
Spuds. There will be lots of big’uns.