Weekly Round Up

 Hang on a minute, because I need to tell you about the shed before I tell you about anything else, or I'll forget in all the excitement about the beans. That leaning old shed at home, the one I mentioned a couple of weeks back when Sara and I were out there with the spirit level getting the new base sorted? It's fixed. Properly, finally, hopefully-for-good fixed. But I'm getting ahead of myself, because it was a funny old week all round, the sort where you tick a load of jobs off the list and somehow still feel like the list's got longer by Sunday night.

The Last of Plot One

Sam and I spent a good chunk of Monday finishing off Plot One. If you've been following along, you'll know we made the decision a while back to put that plot to bed early this year rather than keep flogging a dead horse with it, and this week was about tidying up the last stubborn corner that had been nagging at me every time I walked past. The French bean plants had gone the way of everything else on there, tired, yellowing, done for the season, so out they came. We also had one more go at the potatoes, and I'll be honest, I wasn't expecting much given the state of the haulms, but we still turned up a decent forkful, enough for a good few meals, which just goes to show you should never write a potato off until you've actually had a proper dig.

Here's my tip for the week, and it's one my dad drummed into me years ago: when you're clearing spent French beans, don't pull the whole plant out, roots and all, unless you're desperate for every last scrap of compost material. Beans, like all legumes, have been quietly fixing nitrogen in little nodules on their roots all summer, and if you snip the plant off at soil level with a pair of secateurs and leave those roots to rot down in the ground, you're feeding next year's crop for free. It's the sort of thing that sounds almost too simple to be true, but I've been doing it for thirty-odd years now and I'll swear by it. Whatever you're planning to put on that bit of ground next spring will thank you for it.

With that corner cleared, Plot One really is done now. Bare earth, a bit sorry for itself, but resting, and there's something quite satisfying about walking away from a job properly finished rather than half done, even if the job in question is admitting defeat on a row of beans.

A Tenner's Worth of Common Sense

While I was up at the big shed supplies aisle of a well-known store for something else entirely, as tends to happen, I spotted some fence and shed paint going for an absolute steal, a tenner for a 9 ltr tin that would normally set you back a fair bit more. I'm not one to walk past a bargain like that, so I came home with rather more than I went in for, which Sara will tell you is an annual event with me and paint tins.

The plan is to get the sheds up at the allotment done properly before the weather turns, though with everything else on, that might well end up being a job for Sam and Iris rather than me, which suits me fine, it has to be said. There's a certain type of job on an allotment that's perfect for handing to the next generation: not too skilled, hard to get seriously wrong, and it keeps them busy for an afternoon while I potter about doing something less energetic with a mug of tea. Old Pat two plots down reckons I've been promising to paint that shed since roughly the reign of the last king, and he's not entirely wrong, so this might finally be the year it actually happens.

Cucumbers and Tomatoes, Still Showing Off

While Plot One's been winding down, our other plot has carried on regardless, and the cucumbers and tomatoes in particular have been an absolute treat. We're still picking both most days, and the flavour on a tomato that's ripened properly in its own time, rather than been forced along in a supermarket lorry somewhere, is a different thing entirely. I know I say this every year, but it always catches me out how two plots that get more or less the same weather and the same watering can end up telling such different stories by late summer. One's finished, one's still going strong, and there's not always a tidy explanation for it beyond soil, position, and a bit of luck.

Three Pumpkins and a Gamble on Halloween

Sam was working Tuesday, so it was me and Iris up the plot instead, and we spent the morning clearing away three pumpkin plants on plot 1. they have struggled all summer and not grown much. we have removed the pumpkins and cleared the ground ready to be forked over. Hopefully the pumpkins will keep

We've made the decision to leave the rest and  risk it, rather than bring them in early, because Iris has got it in her head that we're having proper home-grown pumpkins for Halloween this year, carved on the doorstep and everything, and I haven't the heart to argue with that kind of enthusiasm. If you're doing the same, my advice is to get something underneath each pumpkin, a roof tile, a bit of slate, even a flat stone will do, just to lift it off the bare soil. It stops the underside going soft and starting to rot while it finishes ripening, and it keeps slugs from setting up permanent residence underneath, which they will absolutely do given half a chance. We'll be keeping a weekly eye on all three between now and October, turning them very gently every so often so they colour up evenly, and if a hard frost threatens before Halloween, they'll be coming indoors regardless of what Iris has to say about it.

Rained Off, But Not Idle

Thursday and Friday put paid to any plans up the allotment, proper steady rain both days, the sort that soaks in rather than the sort that clears through in an hour. There's no fighting weather like that, so rather than stand there getting miserable about it, I turned my attention to jobs at home instead, which is where the shed story really gets going.

The Shed That's Finally Behaving

Sara and I got stuck into the leaning shed properly this week, the one that's been at a jaunty angle for years, long enough that I'd almost started to think of the lean as a design feature rather than a fault. With the new base finally level and solid after all that work a few weeks back, we got the old girl straightened up, reinforced where she needed it, and gave her a fresh coat of black paint that's made an enormous difference to how she looks. She's not going anywhere now, and I mean that both practically and in the sense that I never want to have this particular job again. It's a proper little job well done, the sort that costs you a weekend and a bit of stiffness in the shoulders rather than a small fortune on a brand-new shed, and there's something rather satisfying about mending something instead of binning it. Fern, it should be said, wanted absolutely nothing to do with any of it and made herself scarce the moment paint tins appeared, which is entirely in character.

Saturday, As Ever

Saturday was bread day, same as every Saturday in this house, rain or shine, sheds finished or not. I'm entirely self-taught when it comes to baking, picked up over the years through a lot of trial and rather more error than I'd like to admit, and it's become one of those jobs I genuinely look forward to rather than one I have to talk myself into. This week's batch came to thirty-six cobs, which should see the family through the week with a bit to spare for anyone who pops round, and with all those potatoes we'd just dug up, it felt like the right week to put a few of them to good use in the dough rather than just on the dinner plate.

Because I Can't Resist a Recipe

Here's a simple one for you, using some of that potato we dug off Plot One. Potato cobs are a proper old-fashioned bake, softer and longer-keeping than a plain white cob, and they're a lovely way to use up a spare potato or two that aren't quite worth saving for a full meal.

Simon's Potato Cobs

• 500g strong white bread flour
• 150g cold mashed potato (plain, no butter or milk added)
• 7g fast-action dried yeast
• 1 tsp salt
• 1 tbsp olive oil
• Around 280ml warm water, added gradually

Mix the flour, yeast and salt together in a large bowl, then rub in the mashed potato with your fingertips until it's evenly worked through and you can't see any lumps left. Make a well in the middle, add the oil, then gradually work in the warm water until you've got a soft, slightly sticky dough. Turn it out and knead for a good eight to ten minutes, until it's smooth and springy under your hands. The potato makes the dough a touch stickier than you might be used to, so resist the urge to keep adding flour, it settles down once it's proved.

Leave it in an oiled bowl, covered, somewhere warm for about an hour, until it's doubled in size. Knock it back, divide into six or eight rolls depending on how big you like your cobs, and leave them on a floured tray to prove again for another thirty minutes or so. Bake at 220°C (200°C fan) for around eighteen to twenty minutes, until they're golden and sound hollow when you tap the base.

The potato keeps these rolls soft for days, which makes them perfect for a family that gets through bread the way ours does. Split one while it's still faintly warm, and you won't need much more than butter on it.

So that's our week, one plot properly put away, another still showing off,  pumpkins living dangerously, a shed finally standing up straight, and thirty-six cobs to show for Saturday's efforts. I'd love to know, does anyone else risk leaving pumpkins out this long for Halloween, or am I setting myself up for a soggy disappointment come October?

Happy growing, everyone. See you on the plot.