The Night Shift: Who Really Runs Our Allotment
When the last spade's leaned back against the shed, the water butt's stopped dripping, and Sam's trundled off home muttering something about his back, you'd think the allotment just... switches off. Goes to sleep. Waits for us to come back and boss it about again. You'd be wrong. Because the minute we're through the gate, a whole different shift clocks on. And I'll be honest with you, they do a better job than we do, they don't ask for tea breaks, and not one of them has ever left a fork stuck in the middle of a bed for me to trip over at dusk. Unlike some people I share two allotments with. We think we're the ones running the plots. The wildlife would have a good laugh at that, if foxes could laugh. I'm starting to think mine can. The Fox: Our Quiet Supervisor I've mentioned him before, our shy fox, but he deserves proper billing this time because he's become a regular. Most evenings, if I'm pottering about later than I shou...
