Plot to Bed Early (And Then, Naturally, It Rained)
You wait all summer for a proper drop of rain, you moan about the hosepipe ban until Sara's sick of the sound of you, you watch the water butts sit there as dry and useless as my exercise bike in the bedroom, and then the very week we finally throw in the towel on one of our allotments, the heavens open. Twice. In the night. And it's only Wednesday. If that's not sod's law dressed up in a pair of wellies, I genuinely don't know what is. Let me back up a bit, because I know some of you like the full story and not just the punchline. Sam, Iris and I have got two allotments between us, and this week we stood at the top of one of them, mugs of tea going lukewarm in our hands, and had what I can only describe as a proper little family council. The courgettes had given up entirely, flat and yellowing like they'd simply lost the will to live, and the potato haulms had gone the same way, collapsed and crispy despite everything we threw at them. Nobody said much fo...
