Beetroot, Blisters, Gary's Big Secret and a Lawnmower in a Carrier Bag

 Right then, another week done and I genuinely don't know where the time goes. I really don't. You blink and it's Sunday again and the list of things that still need doing is somehow longer than it was on Monday. But that's the allotment life, isn't it. You wouldn't swap it for anything. Well, maybe a week in the sun with a cold drink. But apart from that, nothing.

Beetroot With a Cunning Plan Behind It

So this week we've been getting beetroot in, and if you're a regular reader you'll know I don't tend to do things just one way when there's a smarter way to do it. Now I love beetroot. Sara loves beetroot. She does all manner of things with it — jars of it, pickled, cooked, frozen — if there's a method of preserving beetroot, Sara has tried it, and the cupboards are the proof of that. So we grow a fair quantity and I need to make the most of the space.

This time I've gone in with wider spacings than I'd normally use. Now before anyone starts writing in to tell me I'm doing it wrong — I know. I know it looks like there's a lot of empty ground between them. That's entirely the point. Because what's going in between those beetroot plants as soon as they're settled and happy? Little Gem lettuce. And here's the thing about Little Gems that makes this work so beautifully — they are fast. Genuinely quick little things. They're in and out before the beetroot has had time to get going properly and start needing that space. By the time the beetroot wants to spread itself out and get a bit comfortable, the lettuce has done its job and it's gone. It's what I call the allotment version of a good plan — use every inch, waste nothing, and eat well along the way. I'm rather pleased with it if I'm being honest.

Plot Two — This Is the Hard Way and There's No Getting Round It

Now. Plot two. Oh, plot two. We've had to start digging it the old fashioned way this week, and by old fashioned I mean with a fork, by hand, one spit at a time. The reason the big rotovator hasn't gone on it is simple — it's too dry. And I know that sounds backwards to some people. Surely dry ground is easier to work than wet ground? Not when it comes to the rotovator it isn't. When that soil gets compacted and bone dry, the rotovator doesn't so much cultivate it as bounce across the top of it making a terrible racket and achieving next to nothing. You end up with great rock-hard lumps instead of a decent tilth. We've tried it before. It does not end well.

So what you have to do — what we are doing — is get a fork in there and turn it over properly. Break it up. Let some air back into it. Soil needs to breathe just like we do, and compacted dry soil is effectively holding its breath. It's hard work. There's no pretending otherwise. My back has had a few opinions about it over the course of the week. But once it's done properly it's done properly, and that's the point. The Mantis tiller can go over it after that and then we're in business. You've got to put the effort in before the rewards show up. Story of allotment life right there.

The Great Water Mystery — And Gary Knows Something

Right. Now this is the bit I've been looking forward to writing about. Settle in.

Last Friday morning I had a quiet word with two members of the committee about the water. Now we are well into what is one of the driest springs anyone can remember, plants are going in, everything needs a drink, and the water to the plots has been switched off. During the actual growing season. I put my case forward calmly and reasonably, as I always do, and said very politely that we pay for this facility and we are not getting what we've paid for. They nodded. They listened. Whether anything would come of it I genuinely had no idea.

Then — Tuesday morning — I'm up at the plot bright and early, cracking on with things, and I notice Gary. Now Gary is our neighbour on the allotment and he is generally a straightforward sort of chap. But on Tuesday morning Gary was acting strange. He was lurking about at the end of our plot in a way that I can only describe as shifty. Hovering. Glancing over. Not quite making eye contact. He had the look of a man who knows something he's not entirely sure he should know.

And then he ambles over and very casually, very innocently, asks me — "Did you know the water's back on?"

I had to stop and think about that for a second. Did I know? Did I know? I hadn't been up to the plot since Friday. I was standing right here for the first time since Friday. How on earth would I know? I said as much to Gary, possibly with a slightly raised eyebrow, and he just grinned in that way people do when they've said more than they meant to. I still don't know quite what Gary knew or how he knew it or when he knew it, but the water is back on and that is the main thing. Whether my little chat on Friday had anything to do with it or whether it was always going to happen and the timing is a complete coincidence — well. I'll leave that for you to decide. But I know what I think. And so, I suspect, does Gary.

The Greenhouse — Nearly There, Gravel First

The second greenhouse build has come on tremendously over the last week. I mean really moved on. A week ago we were getting the structure together and wondering when it was going to start looking like an actual greenhouse, and now — well now it genuinely does. It is starting to look the part. The frame is taking shape and it is going to be a cracking addition.

Now the glazing hasn't gone in yet and there is a very good reason for that. The gravel needs to go down first. You might think that's the wrong order but think it through. If I start glazing and then the gravel arrives and I'm raking it into place around the base, the first thing that's going to happen is a stray bit of gravel catches a pane of glass on the way past and I've bought myself a very expensive problem. Glass and gravel rakes do not mix well. I have had to explain this logic to myself at least three times because each time I look at that half-finished greenhouse I want to get the glass in and see it finished. But the gravel comes first. That's the rule and I'm sticking to it. Patience, Simon. Patience.

The second greenhouse is filling up nicely with flowers and pots in the meantime. There are trays and pots everywhere, which is exactly how it should look at this time of year. Organised chaos. Sara would probably call it just chaos, but she says it very affectionately.

Sara — My Chief Labourer (She Didn't Know She Was Applying For The Job)

I have to give proper credit this week to Sara, who has been absolutely magnificent. She has been out there with me, getting stuck in, doing the hard graft without a word of complaint. Well. There might have been the occasional word. But she has been brilliant and I genuinely couldn't do half of what I do without her. I sometimes think she signed up in 1986 thinking she was marrying a fairly normal man and has gradually come to realise that life was going to involve considerably more digging, more compost, more greenhouses and more small engines than she originally bargained for. To her enormous credit, she has taken all of it completely in her stride. Never a dull moment in our house, that much is absolutely true.

A Little Kindness — The Neighbours' Lawn

Now this is something I wanted to mention because it's a bit different from the usual allotment chat, but it's been a nice part of the week.

Sara mentioned to me that our elderly neighbours who she visits every week— a lovely couple, both well into their eighties, and not in the best of health — had lost the man who used to come and cut their grass. He's been taken ill, apparently, and they've found themselves without anyone to keep the garden tidy. Sara asked if I'd mind popping round to help out.

Course I said yes. No question about that.

So round I went — and I had to smile when I got there, I really did. They had no mower. No shears. Not a single tool to speak of out in the garden. Whether they'd always relied on someone else bringing everything or whether the tools had just quietly disappeared over the years I don't know, but there I was standing on the doorstep ready to cut the grass and there was nothing to cut it with.

Back to my shed. Out came the old electric mower, the edging shears, and an extension lead long enough to power a small village. Twenty minutes later the job was done, everything was tidy, and the garden was looking smart again. I've left the gear there so I don't have to lug it backwards and forwards every week. It's a small thing really, but it's the right thing to do. I know my dad would have done exactly the same without a second thought. Some things just need doing.

All in All

So there we go. Another week of long hours at work, two plots to keep on top of, a greenhouse waiting for its gravel, beetroot going in with a clever lettuce plan between them, a mystery involving Gary and some insider water knowledge, a neighbour's lawn that's now in my care, and Sara somehow managing to keep the whole operation from falling apart at the seams.

Next week there will be more digging, more potting on, and — if that gravel arrives — we might just get the glazing started. I can feel it coming together. There's something brilliant about this time of year. It's hard work, yes, genuinely hard work, but you can see it all building and you know what's coming later in the season. All those rows of beetroot. All that lettuce. All those beans and sweetcorn and everything else sitting in the greenhouse just waiting for its moment.

Worth every blistered hand. Wouldn't have it any other way.

Until next time — keep digging.