Strimmer work. Armed with the instructions and a newly cleaned strimmer blade it was time to work on the paths. I have the starting procedure going much more smoothly now; but the technique for strimming leaves a lot to be desired. I seem to operate a sort of scorched earth policy, rather than a neat strim. Bald patches appear when I spend too many seconds in the same place trying to kill a dandelion plant or a more recalcitrant clump of weeds. It still takes hours, but at least the paths look beautifully trim. I even had a go under the apple trees which were knee high with weeds. That was a bit lively. Strimmer bouncing around madly as it came into contact with old rotting apples and random bits of stick that had been stored there over winter. It took a few goes to clear all the mess from around the strimmer blade, but eventually I stopped and stepped back to admire. 

Taking a long swig of water in the shed reminded me that the slugs needed their drop as well. Topped up all the beer traps and cleared out the ghastly floating corpses. The wind had picked up by now and really strong gusts were battering the garden. My poor just-planted lemon verbena bush lost a top branch after being battered by the shed door. I have to find a way to secure it shut during high winds. Not having a lock or a door handle does mean it rattles about a bit. (It is usually secured shut by a brick and a pot of hellebores.) But the lid of the cold frame managed to stay secure.

Time left in the afternoon to dig my manure trenches for the pumpkins. To my joy I discovered the soil under the black cloth is gorgeous. It has been protected under cover for a whole year. It cuts easily with a spade and is the texture of a rich piece of chocolate mud cake. Good enough to eat – but it went onto the potato plot instead. I need to earth up the potatoes (something I am putting off every trip) a bit more, and adding soil seems to be the best cheat’s way to do it.

I dug two big trenches and poured in some gooey rich farmyard manure. Topped with soil and in went the little pumpkin plants. The poor plants look so tiny beside this enormous amount of trench work; hope they survive.  I added beer traps nearby and wished them luck.

A whole day of gardening: what a treat. I have come back with nowt but a grubby self, rubbish bags of plastic, empty plant pots and a great feeling of satisfaction. So much achieved; and I have done things I’ve never had time to do before – like pruning the ivy that is all over the wooden fence next to my plot. And edging the grass. And clearing up.

The day started with showers. Such a novelty I wasn’t even deterred. Just stood in the shed and watched it sheet down, and plot what was going to get planted first. Naturally the rain didn’t let up for about an hour – plenty of time to actually clean the mouse droppings from the shelves in the sheds, sort, remove rubbish and tidy away the fleeces, and generally pace about.

By the time it (mostly) stopped raining I charged out and planted the rest of the tomatoes. I now have 21 little plants all staked and neatly planted in their grow bags and covered in mulch.

Next it was to be a row of seeds – I even got the rake out for that. My soil isn’t the sort you see on TV. No fine tilth for me. But I was actually able to work this part of the plot into a semblance of crumb, and to celebrate put in a row of radish. I love radish seeds as you can actually see them in your hand as you scatter along the row. Unlike those wretched salad and rocket seeds. Most of them are decorating my shed floor as I forgot the little parcel of rockets seeds that Oswaldo gave me, and upended them while I was sorting my pots. Never mind. It will be a gourmet delight for the mice.

There will be space beside the tomatoes for the basil. Which I forgot to sow last month. I stupidly didn’t replenish all my stock of seeds from last year, and consequently overlooked them in my month of mass sowings earlier. They will be late. But I sowed seven in their little pots today, and who knows; maybe the slugs will be deterred. Last year they ate all but two. Mind you, two bushy basil plants seemed more than enough (yet another serving of pesto anyone?) but I always sow more than I need.

Stopping only to greet my Vietnamese neighbours it was time to ‘do’ the flower bed. There are enough of my plants to make an almost interesting display. I haven’t managed to germinate more than three of each variety of cornflower, scabiosa, nicotiana (and a few I have shamefully forgotten) but they will make a substantial bed of colour. I have labelled them with a marker pen that is fading as the season wears on. Oh fool for not using pencil I hear you say, and it is true. But scratchings of a pencil are never as dramatic as a flourish of thick black marker when you start out. Such a shame the word permanent doesn’t really apply.

The bed looks rather promising and orderly and hopefully will yield my much desired Flowers For The House.

Most of my work on this bed took place with the background sounds of chirping birds and the persistent thwack of my neighbour’s mattock on some testy piece of solid ground. So that’s how he breaks up his soil. It looked exhausting. I tend to just cover mine with weed suppressing cloth and dig through the small incisions I make. And naturally my neighbour’s plot is much more productive. But I don’t think I could heft such an implement above my head, let alone into a ten foot square patch of clay soil.

More showers, shoes caked and making it hard to stomp about, I then got stuck into the corn.

I ate some of Mick’s corn last year and realised that it is possible to grow this rather lovely veg. Now that I have the extra space in the plot for such an extravagant space I planted up 20 corn seedlings in a square.

Quite fun really. But it was the equivalent of making mud pies. I ran out of the rich compost that most of the plants have been boosted with. So I had to make do with digging up the soil from a nearby space, heaping it in a bucket with plenty of water and scooping the soggy mess around each corn plant to really anchor it in. and if it doesn’t rain again for a while it will anchor in like cement. Are corn cobs thirsty plants too? Everything else but the potatoes seem to be that way. Gross feeders. Wonderful term for my cucumbers and soon to be pumpkins.

The sun came out and I was loathe to leave. That’s one of the beauties of no longer owning a watch. I completely lose track of time. I spent a happy late afternoon pruning off all the wild ivy growth on the fence (no birds nest, so I was safe) and generally sneezing persistently as I pootled about the side paths. I am threatening the strimmer again tomorrow, so I needed to cut the edge of the paths by hand. I don’t want a repeat of that shameful strimmer eating the cabbage netting incident of last month.

Mick came up to inspect – he always has complimentary things to say about the plot – and I took the opportunity to ask him about pumpkins. A good idea he thinks, and I can sink the plants into the manure bed as long as I put plenty of soil around the plants first to keep from burning the roots. I do love an expert. Who cares if three other people would give me contrary advice? I want to try and cover up the large amount of black cloth that still covers a quarter of the plot. I know I’m not going to be digging for any more crops this year. But it really is tahsome to have to look at it the whole time. And I do think I have used up my quota of mini bark chips for this season. So climbing and scrambling pumpkin patch it will have to be.

So first thing I will need to do tomorrow is dig a trench for the manure and plant in the little gross feeders and water and water and water like mad.

Tonight I will have to clean the strimmer and unearth the instructions. I was scrubbing my fingers of mud (didn’t succeed entirely) and tried to remember just which amount of choke was required, and how often I squeeze the fuel bulb before I start the monster machine up. Luckily I took an antihistamine pill to control the sneezing and it has made me so groggy that I know I will forget anyway even if I had remembered the sequence. Shall look for the instructions tomorrow.

First task was to battle the crowds on a bank holiday Sunday and buy another hose and attachment (praying to the god of fiddly metallic bits that these ones would connect to the elderly tap). I also scooped (hah! They weigh a ton) up two extra grow bags for the tomatoes and five foot long canes for the tomato supports.

These tomato grow bags are curious large plastic pillows full of the heaviest compost you can imagine. Miracle food for tomatoes and very moist. Hence the weight. And they are going to be the growing medium for my toms this year. Last year the soil was so hard and dry and I just didn’t feel that I gave my vegetables the best start. I did get plenty of tomatoes from last year’s crop – but they were on the small side. Perhaps that was due to the drought and my inability to go up and water every day, but this method looks worth a go.

I dug the trenches extra deep, hauled the grow bags into place and planted seven more tomatoes. The extra soil I took out of the trenches came in handy to put down at the potato rows. It just took ages.

Then it was joyous watering with a hose. I managed to connect the hose to the tap with a new attachment and run it as far as the wheelie bin. It filled in no time (which in allotment speak means it took much longer than one hoped). But then I thought – go for it. Attach the other 30 metre hose to this one (which I bought) and do the whole plot. Naturally the connectors don’t really speak each other’s dimensions, so I had to hold the two hoses shut and water like mad with a constant drip of water down my trousers and shoes. But it was a warmish sunny afternoon and so pleasing to give plants a proper watering for the very first time. Most of these potatoes and onions and garlic haven’t had a good drenching since they were planted six weeks back. 

The very second I stopped watering there was a sprinkle of rain – oh the irony. But it was merely a splatter of rain drops, and didn’t last.

Walking to my plot this morning from the car park I was hailed by Paddy, the other Irish gardener with the perfectly toiled soil. He wondered if I wanted his leftover tomato plants. They were grown in a greenhouse with plenty of extra heat, and were even in flower despite the early date. Naturally there was no time to be coy; I was delighted. And trotted up to my garden with an instant ready-made crop. My own tomatoes grown from seed may have been sturdier, but they were only six inches high. These beauties were over a foot high and some even taller. No idea with the varieties are – most people around here don’t bother with named varieties; they just save the seed from favourite ones from year to year and forget what they are called.

First I wanted to see if my new hose would fit the tap. I dragged the hose over to the tap (28 metres away and past some rather verdant nettle beds), pulled out all the attachments in the box…and found that not a single one would fit. Rats and other hissing words ending in ‘it’. I had so much hope for the hose. Frustrated but undeterred I even found myself holding the damn hose over the tap and just getting mightily splashed. I did this for about twenty minutes, so it meant I was able to drench the bean bed as it is close to the wheelie bin and generally spray water over most parts of the garden where the hose would reach. Tomorrow (or the next visit) I’m determined to get another attachment that fits.

Meanwhile it was back to the watering cans and buckets and wheelbarrow and endless trips.

The brassica bed (under a new net) is suffering from some sort of pest. I can’t see what it is, but it is nibbling away at the leaves. It will be a race to see if the plant can put on growth before it is entirely devoured. Some have taken root well and romped away, so it’s not all bad news. My brocoletto have flowered. Garish yellow flowers all over the tall plants. I don’t understand how you can avoid it happening; I don’t think they suffered too much from heat stress in the few weeks they have been in the ground. They did the same last year too. Mick is the one who has tutted over this phenomenon. Part of me wonders if this is perfectly natural and not to worry about it. And the other part thinks, failure again. Luckily I’m just going to avoid the problem and get on with planting out other things; who knows? They may produce some lovely tops despite the flowering.

I tucked the netting back around the perimeter of the cabbage patch and spied a cabbage moth butterfly trapped inside. How on earth did that get there? This is precisely the net that is supposed to keep the butterflies out. They lay eggs on the brassicas and wreak all kinds of havoc. I hunted about and managed to remove it, but did smile at the irony of all this netting business. Nothing will deter the determined.

I dug the trenches for the tomato grow bags. This is Paddy’s method which I want to copy. He hides the grow bags (and they are frankly scary in their bright red plastic coverings) at soil level and then puts back plastic over the top. I’m going to do the same, but cover mine with bark chips. I already had two grow bags purchased earlier in the year, and started with these for the new tomato plants. They are designed to take three tomato plants each, and I cut out the holes, watered like mad, and planted the three plants at equal distances in the bag. Staking, and placing of a small empty pot ready for easy watering, and it was done. They look rather fun.

As I was working Rino arrived and looked hurt that I had taken tomatoes from somebody else rather than him. He explained that he was growing seedlings for me in his greenhouse, and wanted me to collect them. At once. I felt most castigated as I plodded behind him to his greenhouse, but really there is no conspiracy; just someone offering me extra plants. The good thing was that Rino knew the Irishman’s name; I never did. So that’s another piece of the social jigsaw of the allotment gossip map sorted.  I can’t say he is mollified by the explanation that is was a spontaneous gesture, but I now have more tomato plants than I intended. Three from Rino, my own six grown at home, and the seven from Paddy. Quite a crop.

The sun was beating down quite fiercely by now, and I was pleased to be able to wear my new large-brimmed straw hat. I miss the one that is in storage waiting for its new life in France. We just didn’t imagine the house purchase would take until June (The latest issue is a possible goat track between our two houses which may or may not be a public right of way). And with a warmer than usual spring, the hat is sorely missed.

Back at home I took a tour of the seedlings on the terrace and planted up some sunflowers and extra purple sprouting broccoli this afternoon. I do so love the sowing process.

Shopping in Waitrose today buying groceries. It’s an expensive supermarket at the best of times, but time was short and needs must. I had to buy some more oatmeal to deter the slugs and found myself reaching for the only plain oatmeal on the shelf. Looking closely at the label and the price tag I found out it was organic and rather a special brand. Expensive organic oats for the slugs? Wait a minute – these creatures aren’t beloved pets, they are vermin. What was I thinking? Back they went and I hunted out a cheaper more scabby brand.

I’ll be shopping in pet food stores next.

Bought a hose too. It’s only 30 metres (100 feet) long, and I have no idea if it will reach the plot from the distant tap, having never paced out the path with a view to running a hose. But it’s an experiment I am willing to undertake. Another year of wheelbarrow and sloshing watering cans and buckets cannot be borne.
 

A weather report – a city full of swirling pollen and too much sun. It has been the hottest April since records began and the garden shows: cracks in the soil of Australian drought proportions. I don’t think we have had any proper rain for six weeks. I can never remember having to water the seedlings on the balcony so often before. Three times a day. And this from a gardener who gardened through a drought just last year.

Last year I would have only gone up in spring three times a week, but now it’s every second day: and even that is not enough. But the drive is tedious, and I have so much more to do. I came up to water the plants in the late afternoon today (not my usual time), and plant out three of the cucumbers. I certainly hope they aren’t gong to be the sacrificial slug crop like last year: there are two plants I’m holding back here at home, but we shall see.

First task was to store the bag on its hook inside the door, so I made a tentative shed entry – on high mouse alert. I’m not paranoid, even it if might have looked that way to any passing gardener, but anything that can lurch out and cause you a fright is going to be something you are wary of. One doesn’t need any unnecessary heart palpitations in this warmth. I really must take away the bunched up fleeces I am storing there as they are just the perfect nest medium for rodents.

I got as far as tossing them out onto the covered plot (in case of flying mice) and thinking ‘I’ll do that later’. First there was watering and inspecting to do.

There are aphids on the roses around the shed. No change there then. Just buds, no flowers, but they have over-wintered in pots.

I have mislaid my favourite small slug scissors (they are somewhere in the beds – must have fallen out of my pockets). And they were sorely missed when I decided to get stuck into the pots around the shed. I need to make room for the soon-to-be delivered Euphorbia plants I ordered from Sarah Raven. Out came the pots and old planters stored beside the wall and there were all the slug families nestling underneath. A quick dispatch (you don’t want to know) and I moved the pots around a bit. I really ought to get rid of most of them. But half have rather happy lilies (which I don’t want to plant in the ground and lose) and there are two Australian shrubs that need planting out. And the rest weigh a ton. So I keep prevaricating. But right now, I need to pretty up the shed exterior in general by making it a good background for some of the larger flowers I want to grow.

It was a warm day and I had leapt out of the car in my sandals, instead of heavy work shoes. Far nicer to stalk up the long path and admire the verdant growth with a bit of breeze about the feet; but as I started digging a hole to plant the lemon verbena bush in the ground I realised that sandals Were Not A Good Idea. Trickles of soil and other gritty matter were working their way into my toes and between sandal and skin. Sighing rather dramatically at my stupidity, I downed tools and walked all the way back to the car to get the proper shoes.

And there was Oswaldo; waving frantically from his plot. No choice but to go over and socialise. Funny how you don’t see people for months, and there they are two visits in a row. I received the grand tour of his wonderful plot. All bursting with growth even at this early stage. The man has pods of beans on his broad bean plants for heavens sake. How does he do that? (Answer, plant the things in slug and mouse free soil in November). And his buds on his fig tree are almost as far advanced as those on the one at Marsanoux. Grape vines, kiwi fruit vine, artichokes, asparagus. Why, I don’t even need to leave London. All the crops I am dreaming of in the Ardeche are here on his chaotic and crowded allotment plot. View isn’t as spectacular of course, and you have to share with a hundred other gardeners.

You never walk away from O without an armful of gifts; and this time it was a pocketful of rocket seeds, plus some cuttings from his mint and lemon mint mountains. Lovely.

Back at my own rather less verdant but busy plot I finished planting the lemon verbena bush, dug a trench in readiness for the euphorbias (rather good soil round the shed I noticed. Wish it was this good everywhere.) And watered the plant like mad. The other euphorbias I planted earlier had a good soaking as well, and I inspected the rather nice smell that was emanating from the bed on the other side of the shed. I wondered what those little flowers were that have sprung up over the past two days. One sniff and I knew: lily of the valley. Such a fantastic deep scent and about thirty little plants. Those were a lovely gift from a previous owner, and I thanked them as I cursed the same person who had added so much grit to parts of the soil where I really wanted to plant out the peppers at the far end that you can only get your fork about an inch into the ground. Fair ruins one’s neat plot plan.

Pepper planting however was next on the list. They have been in a clear plastic box for a few weeks now, growing away in their little three inch pots and looking rather perky. (When you raise them from seed you do get this glow of pleasure at seeing your seedlings romping away.) They can easily stay where they are and put on more growth, but it was time to be daring: the beer traps seem to be working. To summarise: I dug over the soil and planted ten pepper seedlings. But that bald statement belies the incredibly hard work it took just to get them in the ground. Sun beating down, soil rock solid. I had to leap on the fork just to get the prongs into the baked earth. Once I got purchase the soil turned over a bit more easily. But I had to turn over about ten feet worth of soil so I could lay the weed proof membrane back over the top.

It was hot thirsty work and there were plenty of trips back to the shed to glug water and eat a handful of nuts and dried fruit (an allotmenteers’s meal of choice). Naturally I could have set up a picnic under the apple trees which were so much closer (and kept the water cooler than in the warm shed) but it’s a bit busy under there – long grass owing to the rather lovely hyacinths I didn’t want to strim up last month. And the branches are rather low and sweeping to the ground. If I was smart I would raise the canopy by pruning the lower branches: that way I could set up a chair underneath and enjoy the cool shade. Must make it a project for another day. Winter perhaps.

Once the plants were in, the oatmeal scattered and the beer traps topped up, it was time to check the other traps around the brassicas, peas and beans and remove the floaters. There were plenty in each, and I tossed the bodies out (onto the path) hoping that the birds would find them. Mind you, it would be a bit of a beery treat. Who knows which creature would get any value out of the dead slugs? Perhaps they ought to be disposed of more logically. But the whole process is so slimy (rubber glove donned well in advance of the operation) it’s best not getting too obsessed.

In went the cucumbers (more easily) and then time then to do the watering: a tedious task – I’m having hose envy and realised that it’s madness to hold back on yet another garden purchase. Next trip up I definitely need to bring a hose. It will have to be a long one mind you to reach my distant plot. And suddenly it’s almost 7pm and the warmth of the day has finally let up. Time to go home and plot the next garden, in France.

And yes, I ran out of time to sort the fleeces – so they just went back onto hooks inside. The mice get their nests for another day.

I have my first gardening injury from Marsanoux: a thorn that has embedded itself rather prettily in my thumb. We were out there last weekend meeting builders and generally oozing with excitement over our future home. On the Saturday we popped up to measure up random walls and photograph the vegetable gardens (yes, two) and noticed that two of the sheep had escaped the lower field. The grass on the entrance road was obviously too tempting for them, and they squeezed out of a bulge in the fence. It took a bit of cajoling to get them back with the others, and I landed on a bramble bush as I marshalled them back through the gate. 

Well, I’m sure it’s not going to be the last minor injury, but it’s definitely the last of the sheep. One of the builders who was inspecting the house on Friday to give an estimate happily bought Madame’s entire flock.  They are not destined for happy fields alas, but will go beautifully with a mint sauce and perhaps a few sprigs of rosemary and garlic. All home grown of course.

After a week away from this much less glam garden, it was time to see if the beer traps were doing their job, water the crops and get the fleeces off the potatoes. I think the risk of frost has passed.

First though it was time to catch up with one of my favourite allotmenteers I haven’t seen for months; the rather rotund and jolly Italian Oswaldo.  He was at the back of his van when I drove up and we had a happy reunion. (Stowed an azalea and a rose bush that he plucked out of the back of his mini florist shop of a van first – you can’t decline any gift, that much I have learned.) Amazingly he confessed to me that he was getting on, and didn’t envy us taking on a farm. He is over 80 after all. Gad, I thought he was only 60. All that healthy veg is preserving him delightfully.

The potato plants are up and straining at their fleecy constrictions. Off came the fleece blankets and were stuffed into a bag, prior to being properly stowed for another year.  I took the bag back to the shed and decided that I really ought to store all the fleeces in the bag and hang them up on the wall. I reached into a box to collect the spare fleece blankets and found that someone had beaten me to them. Out leaped a rather small but very surprised and energetic mouse. I should have been expecting something of the sort, but it gave me such a shock. It  thumped into me and then scrabbled into a corner of the shed.

Catching breath and trying to control the adrenaline surge, I tried to shoo it out, but it found a hole somewhere at the back and made its escape. Yep, these fleeces really need to be put out of reach.

Plenty of watering ensured (a lovely calming activity if you exclude the tedious trips back and forth from the tap) and then it was time to plant up the 25 pea seedlings into the gaps.,

It’s funny but if you imagine 25 plants of any other variety, it would seem quite a crop. But the peas are planted so closely together that your work seems rather paltry after half an hour of steady work. A good watering, oatmeal around each one, and more placing of the beer traps at the edges of the plot. I seem to recall from last year that the slugs left the peas alone: preferring to devote their attentions to underground potato tubers instead.

But I have noticed that they have made inroads into my cabbage crop: five seedlings have disappeared this week. Good thing I have a bigger supply growing on at home.

Last thing to do before heading home was to try carrots again. Last year was a complete bust: but this year I’m going to try and grow them in a wooden wine crate of soft compost, rather than in the ground. In with the compost, lots of watering and along the little rows go the seeds. I’ve placed the container up on the edge of one of the plastic wheelie bins to deter the carrot fly. But quite frankly the voracious egg laying flies didn’t get much of a feed from my crop last year. My entire yield was one. And it was the size of walnut.  The box may dry out before germination, but we shall see.

I saw a lady with an umbrella at a pedestrian crossing on the way to the allotment this morning – curious. We haven’t had rain in London for more than three weeks now so it was quite a rare sight. And two hours later there I was watering the newly planted cabbage seedlings in a gentle rain shower.

Sadly I don’t think it is of the soaking variety and will do little more than settle the dust. But it’s rather a relief to think I won’t have to think about shrivelling seedlings for a day.

My main reason for heading up there was to finish the task of raking the grass cuttings I left last night. I seem to recall that they are Bad News for lawns in that they smother the grass and may kill off the lush growth. Well, at about 730pm last night I was dreaming of some sort of device that would keep down this wretched stuff.  It took ages to cut.  But hopefully won’t take that much time again if I am diligent and do it once a month.

Actually it looked rather good today – shorn and short and neat. Bet the allotment people are relieved that I have finally attended to it. The next plot down has a very unkempt path which will also need work. In fact in my naïve and keen moments yesterday afternoon I thought I would be a good egg and do their path as well, along with Rino’s. But as it took over two hours just to wrestle my 130 feet of paths, I’m afraid I have not been very neighbourly.

This wasn’t to be a long visit; Monday chores and all that. But I did manage to pot up some cabbage, cover the whole area with newly purchased bark chips, lay down a new long mulch sheet for the root vegetables (and the corn that is sprouting nicely here at home) and generally gloat at the lovely looking and busy garden. The onions and garlic are fine, so too the broad beans, and even most of the peas are up (gaps that will be filled with the extra seeds I am germinating in the cold frame).

Oh, yes, and I topped up the beer traps. Now that was a surprise. I didn’t realise what a success they would be. Mind you I have no idea of the actual number of slugs in the garden, so scooping out a dozen of slugs and hoiking them onto the compost heap is a happy chore: but possibly only a distraction from the advancing army of critters that are to come.

An afternoon of grass cutting was ahead of me today. David assembled the strimmer and helped to explain the complicated starting procedures. Wish I was born with the gene that can grasp the simplicity of the internal combustion engine. I can ‘do’ flat pack assembly, most DIY chores, and even minor construction; but when it comes to pull cords on engines I tremble.

But there was no way around it. Shiny strimmer has been sulking in its box in the coat cupboard for long enough. And about as long as the grass was growing around my veg.  It is a rule that if you have large paths next to your plot, you get the honour of keeping them tidy. My path is 130 feet long and apart from a small track of traffic worn through the middle, is getting about a foot high. I had promised to take better care of the garden this year; and this was the first chance to make good.

I read the instructions, crouched over the machine, pressed bulb six times, choke to full (or was it half?) and off I went. And amazingly it started first go. Naturally I forgot to read page two which basically instructed me on what do once it started (move switch from choke to run and ease back on the throttle) and it conked out. But I worked it out and the entire afternoon’s gentle growing and nesting was already fair ruined by the almighty din I managed to create. But boy did it work. I hacked and slashed my way around the place in no time.

Well, that’s a lie – it took hours. A few times I had to stop to do essential repairs like remove massive build up of grass cuttings, retie shoelace that threatened to get sucked into the blades. And finally to untangle the cabbage net that managed to make friends with the strimmer in a very twisty and permanent looking way.

I knew I was strimming close to the net, but didn’t appreciate the wingspan of the whippers. In no time it had eaten a bamboo cane which it spat out, and then wrapped about a foot of netting around the neck. Pausing only to look round and see if anyone had noticed what an idiot I was, I set to and released the united pair.

No major damage done apart from my ego, and on I went. I was determined to get the whole thing done as the vibration in my hands was of the sort that makes you think you aren’t going to do this as the day job. So it was almost 7pm by the time I finished.  Bet everyone was relieved when the machine finally stopped. I have about three robins nearby who take a great interest in any digging I do, and they were rather impressed at the variety of insect life I had so violently disturbed in the long grass. Sorry for the insects, but at least one member of the animal kingdom profited from the work.

I still had the climbing beans to plant and realised that I may have mixed up the climbing beans and the dwarf French beans labels.  We shall see whether some of the climbing beans refuse to climb and the French bean rows are overrun by lurching leaves.  It was actually quite peaceful to be working in the warm muggy evening. I made contact with my Vietnamese neighbours’ children. They had come up to water the crops for their parents.  Amazing to think that they have grown up children and are retired; I would have put them at around 35 each. The restorative powers of being vegetable gardeners? Probably not, but it cheered me nonetheless; especially as he said that my plot looked lovely and productive. (Such a sucker for praise.)

Everything got a good soaking of water. Next week is going to have to be a major task of filling up the watering cans, buckets and bottles again and wheeling them from the tap to the crops. I had rather hoped we wouldn’t have to do that this year.

It’s curious the things you contrive to bring back from the garden. I was reaching into my pocket to get out the house keys and managed to drag up three good bindweed roots. I must have put them in there while I was working on the potato bed. It has become such second nature to swoop on spaghetti-like strands of white bindweed and try and dispose of them. The pocket of whatever trousers you are wearing is really on the safest place.

There was no frost in the past few days, but I knew I really had to sort the potatoes out. When you enter the gates of the allotment you get the lovely view of about 15 people’s gardens, and today I noticed they all looked very business-like indeed. Gone are the mountains of manure that look as though they have been forgotten over the winter; the weeds are gone, the cabbage is in and the rows of soil are raked to a regimental neatness ready for the potatoes.  I do get obsessive about how high and plump other peoples’ potato crops look. One day that will be me – but not until I manage my soil better. This is the time you notice that you didn’t manure properly over the winter. I thought I was giving up this garden in November, so foolishly didn’t order in my very own manure mountain. Too late now. And besides, by the time I have parked and put on my gardening shoes all I can think of is my own nascent crop.

Would there be anything left? I am still smarting from last year’s cucumber debacle. I only had one plant about this time and it was gorged by a slug which was so full o’ food it lay bloated and huge at the base where the plant ought to have been. It had eaten the lot.

My fears were not realised. Everything is extant. What a relief. And to my surprise I even scooped out about ten slugs from the beer traps. So that’s a success.

On with the earthing up of the potatoes: quite a satisfying task. I do think some of my rows are a bit close as I had trouble digging my spade between the rows and getting enough soil onto each plant; but after about an hour’s digging it looked better. And just to be doubly sure I put the fleeces back over the top. Most satisfactory labour.

In the winter I had moved the perpetual spinach from the middle of the plot where it had tolerated my rather strict linear design, and is now thriving nicely at the side of the path where the potatoes start. In a week or so I may even get a good crop out of them for dinner.

I had kept some of the weed proof membrane down at the end under the apple trees, and think they will be the perfect place for my cucumbers. I was putting up the hooped cane supports when Rino came past. He was completely baffled as to what I was doing (it does look odd without any cucumber plants growing up and over them) but was mollified that I had earthed up and protected the potatoes from his dreaded frosts.

All the earthing up had made me peckish, and I must confess that I devoured the very last of the purple sprouting broccoli shoots from last year’s plant. They go wonderfully with the flowers from the land cress which has gone to seed. A peppery and quite filling combination.

Last year all my cabbage, ahem, suffered (tried to wash them off as best I could before cooking) from an infestation of white cabbage moth. And this was despite using a very natty and expensive netting protection. Naturally I realised too late that the creatures may have come from the soil. Or is that another pest? I really must pay more attention to the literature. But I knew that this year I needed to give the brassicas a better chance at thriving. 

In the best make do and mend tradition, I have been hoarding cardboard and cutting out round shapes all winter. So today it was down to hands and knees under the new net and place the little cardboard collars around their base. They look a bit wonky but I shall seek out the professional collars on my next trip to a garden department. Right now they are protected from all invading marauders. Let’s hope it lasts.