Who needs Glasto?

Kate…

The other two have packed up their little rucksacks and taken themselves off for a weekend of dirt and debauchery at Glastonbury, so I’m holding the fort at the land. It’s a tough life being a martyr. The rain has given me a helping hand with the watering, mind you.

Anyway, who needs Glastonbury when you’ve got an allotment to tend to? Today, I had all the mud, music and weeds a girl could ask for, so I cranked up the sound on my iPod, cracked open my thermos flask, crawled around the land and whipped up a frenzy with my trowel.

It took me four, painstaking hours to remove the thistles, ground elder, nettles and switch grass between four rows of carrots, parsnips and beetroot plants. My knees are feeling a bit sore now – I think I might need to invest in one of those fancy knee pads I’ve seen in those sensible, practical shops – but I must admit, the rows do look much better now that they’re weed free. I’ve made a note to make sure that we try not to let the little so and so’s get so big next time. Perhaps each of us will have to take responsibility for weed control for a certain patch of the allotment?

I’m going to put in a few hours tomorrow too and get a few more rows done. I’m developing a grudging respect for the ground elder. It’s the way it winds itself around the nearest thing to it and tries to strangle it that really impresses me. Unwinding it from the veggies we want to live is a delicate, but strangely satisfying job.

I’m a bit worried about Katy’s Kiwi plant. It’s already looking a bit ropey. On a positive note, we appear to have a few gooseberries appearing on two of the bushes and some redcurrants are beginning to traffic light their way to red. Even the rather dead looking tomato plants are beginning to bear fruit.

The sunflowers are sprouting up and the runner beans are sprinting up their frame (which is reminiscent of the Wicker Man). The herb garden is positively bushy. Its resident gnome is looking a bit overwhelmed.

As I packed up my tools into the boot of my car, I had a brief chat with a gentleman who had also put in a few hours worth of hard graft. He said that he doesn’t think there is such a thing as a weed that can’t be beaten. Keep scything off the top of the switch grass, he said, it’ll give up in the end. I’m going to take strength from that as I tend to my nettle stings this evening!

Right, I’m off to eat my dinner, which includes a salad made from rocket from the land. It’s got quite a zing to it. It beats a supermarket salad any day.

Katy gets kiwi

Kate again.

What do you think our chances are of growing kiwi fruit on the land?

Katy turned up at the allotment last week with a very healthy looking kiwi plant. I have to say, I was a bit surprised that the local garden centre stocked such exotica, but naturally, we had to have one. Prior to one arriving on site, I hadn’t really given a great deal of thought to how kiwi’s actually grow – they just seem to appear in fruit salads – so it was a bit of a revelation to see where they come from. Tragic, really.

A fig tree and more rhubarb were also procured, so fruit corner is now looking pretty healthy. We think we might get some raspberries on the existing bushes that were already on the land, but if not, we’ll have to wait for next year for the raspberries James planted just before Christmas to start earning their keep. I am keeping my fingers crossed for some blackberries on the brambles we didn’t scythe to extinction.

Katy and I have also got a bit of a thing for making the allotment look pretty, so we’ve been clearing the way for flower beds around the outside of the land. Next door to the herb garden, we’ve been planting geraniums, nasturtiums, poppies, marigolds and lots of pick ‘n’ mix seeds, so who knows what we’ll get in the end.

I am delighted to report that having the allotment seems to be having a positive influence on my relationship with plants in other aspects of my life. Having recently moved house, I have been feeling quite mature in buying house plants to dot about my pad. I am a little concerned that I caught myself saying goodbye to them as I left to go to work one morning. I suspect it’s a slippery slope, but as things stands, the plants haven’t died yet, so I might have to keep it up now that I have started.

You never know, work might let me have my desk plant back again soon if I keep this up.

Chick, chick, chick, chick, chicken...

It's Kate again.

I thought I'd let you in on a running conversation between James, Katy and I about potential allotment livestock.

James wants chickens. Five 'layers' and five to eat, he says. He reckons he can put them in a pen to keep their sharp little beaks away from our fledgling veg.

Me, I am not so keen on the idea. In fact, I couldn't be less keen. For a start, looking after the things we stick in the soil to grow is quite enough responsibility for me, thank you very much. I also don't think there is enough room for some free-range fun in the small amount of space we have left to play with. More crucially though, I am vegetarian and although I'm not of the militant variety, the idea of nurturing some fluffy little chicks and then having someone wring their little necks breaks my heart.

I understand that most other people eat meat and I also understand that chickens raised on our allotment would have a happy life, comfortable life (foxes aside), but for me, the allotment is about bringing things to life, not ending life. Unless we are talking about evil weeds, in which case, bring on the trowels and lets rip those monsters out by the roots. No killing of chickens on my watch, I'm afraid. I sound like a total party pooper, don't I?

James has now put his name down for another allotment, which is already provisionally titled 'The Farm', so that he can satisfy his need to be surrounded by clucking fowl to his heart's content. In the interim, he is actually contemplating setting up a pen in his garden, until an appropriate plot comes up.

Am I being unfair?