I am obliged to be nice

[papasmurf]

The thing about gardening as opposed to forays to Sainsbury's, is that it is fun.

Except if you stick a fork through your foot.

[Borchester]

Classic examples are Eggs and Asparagus are insipid. We've always had hens and the colour of the yoke is 20 shades darker than chip bought eggs, as for Spanish asparagus, it is tasteless compared to the U.K. grown stuff.

Quite

Nothing bets the taste of a free range egg from a hen left free to roam and eat anything, including each other.

And I do remember the old boys sawing away at two foot high asparagus beds with those razor sharp knives and coming away with baskets of succulent vegetables and the occasional finger tip.

The thing about gardening as opposed to forays to Sainsbury's, is that it is fun.

[Nick]

That is indeed true. I have a friend who has a big house with expansive garden in which she grows many of her own things. Last year she treated me to a meal which included some of her home-grown stuff. I have to say that her home grown broccoli was the most delicious broccoli I have ever tasted. Supermarket broccoli is virtually tasteless by comparison.

Classic examples are Eggs and Asparagus are insipid. We've always had hens and the colour of the yoke is 20 shades darker than chip bought eggs, as for Spanish asparagus, it is tasteless compared to the U.K. grown stuff. 

[Borchester]

That is indeed true. I have a friend who has a big house with expansive garden in which she grows many of her own things. Last year she treated me to a meal which included some of her home-grown stuff. I have to say that her home grown broccoli was the most delicious broccoli I have ever tasted. Supermarket broccoli is virtually tasteless by comparison.

The thing is that the stuff in the supermarket has to survive the trip to the shop, so it is picked before it is ready and the flavour has properly developed.

Funnily enough, I was discussing this with a fellow plot holder last week. He was munching away on one of my Spartan apples and said how much better they were than shop bought ones.

Why was that, he asked?

Ahhr, I said, there is a little bit of magic in every true gardener I said.

Bollocks, said my friend. How do you know when the fruit is at its best?

So I went over to the tree and shook it gently, whereupon a couple of apples fell to the ground.

There you are, I said. Those apples are at their peak while the rest are still developing.

Ahhr he said.

Exactly, I replied. Don't forget the oohing and ahhring, which is the mark of the true gardener.

[srb7677]

there really is nothing like the taste of home grown stuff.....

That is indeed true. I have a friend who has a big house with expansive garden in which she grows many of her own things. Last year she treated me to a meal which included some of her home-grown stuff. I have to say that her home grown broccoli was the most delicious broccoli I have ever tasted. Supermarket broccoli is virtually tasteless by comparison.

[johnofgwent]

Exactly John

There is a belief, common to the public in general and to gardeners particular, that if you aren't breaking your arse you aren't doing anything worthwhile. Well sod that for a game of soldiers, I have a plan whereby my allotment will cut a sizeable chunk out of our food bill and reduce my energy input to not very much

Dad believed in spade work

i on the other hand ... our previous house had an acre of lower garden which the previous owner pretty much ignored. In the garage I found a petrol driven rotavator. After about half an hour with that, and an hour with a rake and a blowtorch, I had the basis of several months supply of spuds. Yes, potatoes need a lot of digging. I then rotated the crops. I don't believe I saved a huge amount of money, but there really is nothing like the taste of home grown stuff.....

[Borchester]

They have probably spotted that you are struggling to maintain your large allotment. If you are getting a bit long in the tooth to manage it all then giving some of it up to others who as yet have no plot of their own makes sense and is the genuinely nice thing to do.

I suspect that had you been keeping the entire area in good order, with things other than grass and weeds growing on every square inch, they would never have approached you to ask if you would give up some of your allotment to them.

Under the circumstances they sound perfectly reasonable to me and may even have your best interests at heart too. There is no point hanging on to so much land if you are getting too long in the tooth to effectively manage it all, when others are desperate for a plot.

Exactly Steve.

The committee love weed free plots and trim lawns and see gardening as an outdoor version of the Good House Keeping Guide and get their best harvests from the organic food counter at Waitrose. I, on the other hand, have never seen a tidy farm in my life and have two mates who are in their seventies, but still farm 300 acres in the Vale of Glamorgan along with regular trips to the local pubs.

In an earlier post you expressed a wish to take over an allotment of your own when you are retired. Stall with me and I will show you how it is done without breaking your arse.

[Borchester]

All I remember of dads allotment is the sheer bloody hard work of shifting the cooch grass brambles and all sorts.

Dad was insistent rotavating was no bloody use and spadework was what it took.

Exactly John

There is a belief, common to the public in general and to gardeners particular, that if you aren't breaking your arse you aren't doing anything worthwhile. Well sod that for a game of soldiers, I have a plan whereby my allotment will cut a sizeable chunk out of our food bill and reduce my energy input to not very much

[srb7677]

Which is not as easy as you might think.

Generally speaking Proverbs 15:1 is my middle name and when that doesn't work I either pretend to be deaf or fall back on plain bloody crawling, all of which have served me well enough in the past. However, things are now getting serious.

The allotment committee have approached me with a tale of an elderly gentleman who would like a small plot of land and would I care to give up part of mine? To which I replied no and that I am an elderly gentleman myself and he and they can go and get f**ked.

So they fell back on the fact that my plot is over grown with everything it is possible to overgrow a plot with and was I really able to maintain it and all the rest. And the short answer is yes and no. I am running out of puff and turning over an eighth of an acre is not as much fun as it was. Fortunately, a man has two only two organs that really count and the other one is between his ears.

So I have devised a plan. It should take a year to come to fruition but by then the Association of Geriatric Gardeners will be up and running and I will pottering (slowly) around a veritable garden of somewhere dead good.

But in the meanwhile I have to put up with the dreary bastards of the allotment committee. No more telling them that they only have their jobs because no one else wants them and well, that is it really.

Time to go into cuddly old gentleman mode.

They have probably spotted that you are struggling to maintain your large allotment. If you are getting a bit long in the tooth to manage it all then giving some of it up to others who as yet have no plot of their own makes sense and is the genuinely nice thing to do.

I suspect that had you been keeping the entire area in good order, with things other than grass and weeds growing on every square inch, they would never have approached you to ask if you would give up some of your allotment to them.

Under the circumstances they sound perfectly reasonable to me and may even have your best interests at heart too. There is no point hanging on to so much land if you are getting too long in the tooth to effectively manage it all, when others are desperate for a plot.

[johnofgwent]

All I remember of dads allotment is the sheer bloody hard work of shifting the cooch grass brambles and all sorts.

Dad was insistent rotavating was no bloody use and spadework was what it took.

[Borchester]

500 m2 of allotment? Crikey, our house plot is only ~half of that. I would give 250 m2 to whoever wants it, Borky, but everything at a price. It should provide you and the Mrs with a bit of a Christmas bonus. Business is business.

Actually, the garden at the Rural Ruin is about another 250 m2 and that is in a bit of a state as well. But that is not such a problem because Madam responds well to a kiss, cuddle and a few boxes of chocolates.

On the other hand the committee members are, as said, dreary sods and I don't really want to go that far with them

[Barry]

500 m2 of allotment? Crikey, our house plot is only ~half of that. I would give 250 m2 to whoever wants it, Borky, but everything at a price. It should provide you and the Mrs with a bit of a Christmas bonus. Business is business.

[Borchester]

You're obliged to be nice.

That'll be a first

It is enough to make a man's piles burst, but I can do it.

For a year at least

[cromwell]

You're obliged to be nice.

That'll be a first  

[Borchester]

Which is not as easy as you might think.

Generally speaking Proverbs 15:1 is my middle name and when that doesn't work I either pretend to be deaf or fall back on plain bloody crawling, all of which have served me well enough in the past. However, things are now getting serious.

The allotment committee have approached me with a tale of an elderly gentleman who would like a small plot of land and would I care to give up part of mine? To which I replied no and that I am an elderly gentleman myself and he and they can go and get fucked.

So they fell back on the fact that my plot is over grown with everything it is possible to overgrow a plot with and was I really able to maintain it and all the rest. And the short answer is yes and no. I am running out of puff and turning over an eighth of an acre is not as much fun as it was. Fortunately, a man has two only two organs that really count and the other one is between his ears.

So I have devised a plan. It should take a year to come to fruition but by then the Association of Geriatric Gardeners will be up and running and I will pottering (slowly) around a veritable garden of somewhere dead good.

But in the meanwhile I have to put up with the dreary bastards of the allotment committee. No more telling them that they only have their jobs because no one else wants them and well, that is it really.

Time to go into cuddly old gentleman mode.