This might seem obvious in hindsight, but my top tip for the over fifties is not to spend your first weekend home after a fortnight’s holiday in the US attempting to undo all the overeating by going for your first run in several years, followed by two days of binge gardening in an attempt to undo two weeks’ neglect. Especially when the run in question was a 5km park run that involved a 20 mile* round trip bike ride to get there and the first chore on the gardening list was digging up your potatoes.
Still, I’m pleased to report that I actually made it round the course without stopping or injuring myself, and even finished about two-thirds of the way down the pack (admittedly most of the people behind me were either running with a dog or a buggy or both, or started walking almost immediately the whistle blew at the start, but we take our victories where we can find them these days). If I can manage to get up and down the stairs without making a variety of wincing noises by the time next Saturday rolls around, I might even go back and see if I can improve my time.
The potatoes were also a bit of a bonus. I’d planted five International Kidney seed potatoes (effectively Jersey Royals, but you can only call them that if they’re grown in Jersey so I can only imagine the Jersey Royal Marketing Board spent an entire meeting brainstorming the most offputting potato variety name they could come up with to discourage anyone from growing them elsewhere) in the greenhouse and we’ve had the most delicious potatoes from them, but all good things must come to an end, and the rest of the potato plants had started looking sickly and dying off back in July. Pretty soon they had all gone, and the weeds had taken over so I wasn’t hopeful when I put my fork in the ground but they’ve come up trumps with a reasonable crop:
Complete with a bonus florin which, given the speed with which our country appears to be going back to some imagined past, I fully expect to be legal currency some time soon.
We also have one, count ’em, reasonable looking fennel bulb and a handful of what I will be marketing as ‘baby fennel’ if it doesn’t get a move on in the next couple of weeks.
On the downside, it would appear that in our absence the mice discovered the beetroot and have spent a blissful undisturbed fortnight while we’ve been away hollowing almost every single one out, the bastards.
I am now aching in all directions but I have at least made a start at restoring order to the raised beds, and the potatoes have all been sorted and stored, ready for the winter. Bring on your food shortages, Operation Yellowhammer, we’ll be fine. At least for as long as we are happy to survive on potatoes and beetroot-fed mice and whatever a florin will buy you these days …
* I know, I know, but park runs are in kilometres and I still think of distances in miles and I’m not going to start converting either of them just for the sake of consistency.