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

Shouting in the social media mirror

It was always tricky to fit everything you wanted into the intentionally short character count of Twitter, especially when, like me, you tend to write ridiculously long sentences that keep going on and on, with no discernible end in sight, until you start wondering what the point was in the first place. The maximum length of a text message originally limited a tweet to 140 characters, due to it being a common way to post your ramblings in Twitter’s early days. Ten years later, we’ve largely consigned texting to the tech dustbin, and after a lot of angst, the social media platform’s bigwigs have finally opted to double your ranting capacity to 280. Responses ranged from “You’ve ruined it! Closing my account!” to the far more common “Meh” of modern disinterest. As someone rightly pointed out, just because you have twice as much capacity doesn’t mean you actually have to use it. It is, of course, and excellent opportunity to use the English language correctly and include punctuat...

A fisful of change at the shops

A recent day out reminded me how much the retail experience has altered during my lifetime – and it’s not all good. I could stop typing this, and buy a fridge, in a matter of seconds. The shops are shut and it’s 9pm, but I could still place the order and arrange delivery. I haven’t got to wander round a white-goods retail emporium trying to work out which slightly different version of something that keeps my cider cold is better. It’ll be cheaper, too. But in amongst the convenience, endless choice and bargains, we’ve lost some of the personal, human, touches that used to make a trip to the shops something more than just a daily chore. Last weekend, we visited a local coastal town. Amongst the shops selling over-priced imported home accessories (who doesn’t need another roughly-hewn wooden heart, poorly painted and a bargain at £10?) was one that looked different. It’s window allowed you to see in, rather than being plastered with stick-on graphics and special offers calling ...

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 ...