OK, so I have for once been sticking to my well-laid plan of working on the garden for an hour a day.* And in the spirit of keeping myself honest, here is the result of the first week
I feel that my imaginary allotment committee – while still averting their eyes from the painful sight every time they pass – will be conceding over an imaginary cup of tea in their imaginary shed that the lass is at least putting in an effort, although time will tell whether she’ll keep it up and really she should have done the work in July not waited until everything was dying back in October.
It is slightly cheating because half of the cleared beds you can see was me digging up my spuds but I have also weeded the paths around them and done as thorough a job on the assorted couch grass, creeping buttercup, nettles and bindweed roots as I could. But at least when I was asked in the village this morning if I had lifted my tatties I could honestly say that I had done it over the weekend, as if I were some sort of organised gardener who does things at the right time and knows what she’s doing.
Maybe after another 5 years practice, I will be…
* the hour between 5 and 6 because I have an unhealthy attachment to PM on Radio 4 and yes I do arrange my entire life around the Radio 4 schedule (to the point of never cooking on Wednesdays or Fridays because of the Moral Maze and/or Any Questions) and your point is?