Soilman's Allotment Blog

Copper-bottomed plotter

Hurrah! Celeriac plants are out on the plot. Left them under a fleece tunnel for a week to get fully acclimatised to allotment conditions.

Talking of which, it's not just the plants that need hardening off. After my massive dig-and-weed-a-thon on Saturday, I have a seriously stiff arse. Sitting down is posing problems.

Wasn't aware gardening exercised the gluteus muscles so effectively. It's yet another benefit of the madcap funster allotment lifestyle.

Soilman: Buns of steel.

Out, out, brief candle

I've never been so pleased to see a potato. Thought they'd never make it.

How good was yesterday? The sun shone like it meant business, and I got a little burned. Did two hours of sowing, weeding and diverse agriculture.

I even acquired a blister. It's been about 18 months since it was possible to work outside long enough to get one of them.

But don't pack away the hot water bottle. It's back to pissing rain and March temperatures next week. 

Nonsense about me

This is one of my onion sets. Sprouting at last!

But it's not the reason I'm posting. Lucy at the Smallest Smallholding has tagged me to answer some questions. So here goes:

What Was I Doing 10 Years Ago?
I'd just become a magazine editor for the first time. I was a few months into it and starting to realise that nothing I'd done thitherto remotely prepared me for the job.

My To Do List for Today/Diary of What I Actually Did
Sow carrots. I'm staggeringly late with the early carrots this year. Been meaning to sow them for about two weeks... but keep not having the time. And I failed again tonight.

Snacks I Enjoy
Halva, Bombay mix, chocolate. Had no interest in chocolate whatsoever until my 35th birthday, when some mysterious chocaholic gene switched itself on. Now this addiction is threatening my sanity.

Things I Would Do If I Were A Billionaire
Quit the allotment, buy a place with a VAST garden and become an urban peasant. Total self-sufficiency, full-on organo-fascism.

Three of My Bad Habits
Arriving early (for everything), colourful language, detail-blindness

Five Places I Have Lived
Dorset, Oxford, London, eastern France. Oh, and Swindon (the Glamour Years)

Five Jobs I Have Had:
Bus conductor (number 11, Fleet Street to Putney), waiter ("More cherry cake, Madam?"), life insurance salesman (total sales: 1 policy, later cancelled), teacher, journalist

Five People Who Write Interesting Blogs That I’d Like to Tag (but don't bother if you've done it already or don't have time):

• Laura at mas du diable
• Welsh girl 
• Gina at My Skinny Garden 
• Kayle Garkut 
• Greenmantle at Quotidian

Blizzard postponed

No polythene required yesterday (sorry Gina!). From an inauspicious start, it became a gorgeous day – the first that's felt anything like Spring proper.

So I got the wretched spuds planted and did some weeding. It's so long since I did any sustained digging and bending that I was soon sweating like a rapist.

And bafflingly, I got shit all over my face. This perplexed the wife: "Why are you planting potatoes with your head?"

"I may be some time..."

Right, that's it. Enough's enough. The allotment's getting these bloody maincrop spuds TODAY.

They should have been planted a week ago. But of course that was impossible.

*Insert weather rant here*

So I'm planting them today – come rain, shine, snow or an ice storm from Hell itself. Even if I have to dress up in polythene like the farmer in Withnail.

Sickly spears

This time last April I was cutting the first asparagus spears. This year I'm watching them rot in the frost.

I can't even point at other successes for encouragement. The early potatoes aren't even through yet. Or rather, they did come through... and were promptly frosted.

This really is the latest spring for a very long time, isn't it?

The touch of okra

Still not convinced the doomed okra will survive. I've read all you Australian bloggers saying they need hot, dry conditions. Not exactly what these shores are famous for.

But as you can see, they're still alive – for now. So there's still a flicker of dangerous hope. I'm now enjoying a Gladiator-style dream in which I stroll through a field of perfect okra, my fingertips lightly feathered by their topmost leaves in the rosy light of a summer evening.

Which shows I know sod-all about okra. Apparently the leaves are as rough as a badger's arse.

Take a leek and make a smile

Leeks are go, sown in Rootrainers in my crappy plastic greenhouse. Would have sown them earlier, but the weather's been so grim.

I'll put these in the space left by the early potatoes. Assuming the potatoes figure out a way to push through the ice.

Yet another apology

Please wait...

Dear God: Enough already

More deceptive weather, more deceptive growth. Any other time, and I'd welcome sprouting lilies. Now they seem like a bad joke; tonight we're getting sleet and snow.

I realise, of course, that this allotment blog is taking on a Cassandra-like character. All you get is moans and weather warnings. Like Jenna Jameson reading the shipping forecast.

All I can say is: if you're not whingeing, could you please start? If enough of us rant at the Almighty, He might deign to cancel winter.

He's clearly not getting the message from me.

Heralds of...Winter

Pretty tasty, huh? These are sitting just outside my garden door, and the smell is so strong it's indecent. I'm almost excited about it.

Almost. But not quite.

You see, it's a false dawn. Winter's back with a vengeance at the weekend: snow is forecast. So here we go again.

Will this sodding winter ever let go?