Skip to main content

Losing the plot on Bank Holiday allotment frenzy

It seemed like a good idea at the time – spend the Bank Holiday weekend working at our allotment.

That’d be nice and relaxing, right?

THURSDAY: This is great! Take an extra day off to make sure we get as much done as possible. And the weather forecast is fab!

We should have got up here earlier. It all looks rather sad and neglected. Still, won’t take long to whip it into shape. Just need to clear a space in the undergrowth at the back for the new jumbo compost bin - it looks like a drab Dalek. Nice bit of exercise in the sun, what could be better!

FRIDAY: There appears to be a rubbish tip immediately under the surface, and I filled a couple of bags with bits of crumbling plastic sheeting, but at least I got those heavy slabs down, and the bin is in place. True, I did fill it with the stuff I had to clear to put it there, but it’ll compost down nicely.

Today I need to start digging out the old compost heap. The pallets used to construct it are completely rotten and.. Ooo! A Slow Worm! Cute! Just think, I could be stuck in a traffic jam trying to get somewhere on the M6.

SATURDAY: The old heap appears to have been designated some kind of sanctuary for Slow Worms. I had to gently move dozens of them before I could do anything, and every time I put the fork in, there was another one, plus some big, warty frogs too. I’ll be seeing those in my sleep.

What I thought was a large quantity of compost was about 70% wriggly things, 10% jumpy things, and 20% useable mulch (although it’s probably unwise to think about how much of that is wriggly/jumpy poo).

I’m sure Mrs G is here somewhere too. Possibly in the long undergrowth. Since I attempted to show her a Slow Worm close up, she seems a little wary of this end of the plot. Blimey – I ache.

SUNDAY: This is ridiculous! It appears that, under previous stewardship, this entire plot was carpeted. Everywhere I dig, I’m pulling out decaying strips of carpet. My arms hurt too now, from trying to yank it out of the ground.

I still haven’t cleared the old compost heap either. Overnight, the Slow Worms moved back in and appear to be putting up a fight against their forced eviction. The frogs are supporting them. Treacherous amphibian swines!

MONDAY: I didn’t know I had muscles there, let alone that they could hurt this much. I had nightmares last night, in which an army of Slow Worms threw me out of my house.

I could have gone somewhere nice for the weekend in the car. The odd queue would have been OK. At least I wouldn’t be covered in scratches and bites. Are those red things poisonous? I think I accidentally swallowed a bit. Whose idea was this anyway?

TUESDAY: Sweet, sweet rain. I love you.

This post first appeared as my "Thank grumpy it's Friday" column in the North West Evening Mail on the 25th of April 2014. You can view the version used by the paper on their website here To my intense shock, when I did my usual word count I discovered that the NWEM's version was actually three words LONGER than my submitted text.

It turns out that, for some reason I can't quite visualise, they've used 'per cent' instead of the symbol. Huh...

The paper also dropped the reference to Bank Holiday from the title.

We returned to the allotment today. Weeds had already grown up through some of my carefully tended soil. Bastards. And when I attempted to pull up some pesky roots, my back started playing up. Allotments - they're good for your health, honestly.

(A break from the home-made compilation CDs tonight, whilst I listen to the final CD in a Gary Numan box set I got recently - Warriors. Oh, Gazza... what DO you look like on the cover, love.)

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Making an exhibition of yourself

Now and again, it’s good to reaffirm that you’re a (relatively) normal human being. One excellent way of doing this is to go to a business exhibition. Despite what you might have surmised from reading my previous columns, I am employable, and even capable of acting like a regular person most of the time, even joining in the Monday morning conversation about the weather over the weekend, and why (insert name of footyballs manager here) should be fired immediately. The mug! True, there are times, often involving a caffeine deficiency, where it is like having the distilled essence of ten moody teenagers in the room, but I try and get that out of the way when people I genuinely like aren’t around to see it. As part of my ongoing experiment with what others call ‘working’, my ‘job’ involves me occasionally needing to go and see what some of my colleagues get up to outside the office, and what our competitors do to try and make sure that they do whatever my colleagues do better than ...

"It's all gone quiet..." said Roobarb

If, like me, you grew up (and I’m aware of the irony in that) in the ‘70s, February was a tough month, with the sad news that Richard Briers and Bob Godfrey had died. Briers had a distinguished acting career and is, quite rightly, fondly remembered most for his character in ‘The Good Life’. Amongst his many roles, both serious and comedic, he also lent his voice to a startling bit of animation that burst it’s wobbly way on to our wooden-box-surrounded screens in 1974. The 1970s seemed to be largely hued in varying shades of beige, with hints of mustard yellow and burnt orange, and colour TV was a relatively new experience still, so the animated adventures of a daft dog and caustic cat who were the shades of dayglo green and pink normally reserved for highlighter pens, must have been a bit of a shock to the eyes at the time. It caused mine to open very wide indeed. Roobarb was written by Grange Calveley, and brought vividly into life by Godfrey, whose strange, shaky-looking sty...

Suffering from natural obsolescence

You know you’re getting old when it dawns on you that you’re outliving technological breakthroughs. You know the sort of thing – something revolutionary, that heralds a seismic shift it the way the modern world operates. Clever, time-saving, breathtaking and life-changing (and featuring a circuit board). It’s the future, baby! Until it isn’t any more. I got to pondering this when we laughed heartily in the office about someone asking if our camcorder used “tape”. Tape? Get with the times, Daddy-o! If it ain’t digital then for-get-it! I then attempted to explain to an impossibly young colleague that video tape in a camcorder was indeed once a “thing”, requiring the carrying of something the size of a briefcase around on your shoulder, containing batteries normally reserved for a bus, and a start-up time from pressing ‘Record’ so lengthy, couples were already getting divorced by the time it was ready to record them saying “I do”. After explaining what tape was, I realised I’d ...