the allotment underground

The life and soul of the plot

2008-08-29T21:35:00.000+01:00

Let me introduce you to my current squeeze: Jumbo Pink Banana Squash. I admire the way he spreads himself across the soil in a gregarious fashion. Fortunately JPB's a suggestible chap: with a well placed stick I can steer his intentions. He's currently flourishing between my pregnant sweetcorn, making himself useful - quite unlike his uncooperative cousin.

JPB doesn't suffer fools. His tendrils choke any passing miscreants. It's immensely satisfying to see him mete out justice on any nettles that try their luck.

I've recently discovered the story behind his moniker. You see his fruit are outsized: twenty inches long.

Wife is concerned. Me, I'm enjoying the spectacle. His absurd dimensions bring a touch of slapstick to the allotment.

A different season

2008-07-29T13:57:00.004+01:00

The sun is up, the sky is blue, and I'm at the allotment. My spade is sleeping, because today I'm here to harvest.

I amble between the verdant beds. The strawberry plants are bare at last. A couple of courgettes have reached maturity; maybe we'll fry them in butter alongside dinner.

I check the nettle soup - it's brewing well - and pluck an occasional weed, more from habit than neccessity.

My neighbour wanders over to compliment my squash. We assess the weather, and critique the slug threat level. He meanders off to examine his cabbages.

That's enough for now, time to go home. Maybe I'll drop by tommorrow after work.

Where is James?

2008-06-08T08:06:00.000+01:00

James has become a dad again. He's taking some time off the allotment underground to assist Wife and Daughter with the new arrival, who we shall temporarily label 'Daughter 2'.

He promises to be back in July. But we know he's a bit flaky don't we? So take that with a pinch of salt.

At least things are still growing:

Illicit strawberries

They're watching me

2008-04-28T21:48:00.001+01:00

"Are you sure you want to keep the allotment? Because I've been told plots ten and eleven haven't had much done to them."

I flinch. This is a nasty surprise: my first skirmish with the allotment police. I muster a reply.

"Yes we do. We've been working the plot gradually. Last year we had five beds up and running. This year we'll have seven."

The clerk looks unimpressed. I decide new evidence is needed.

"My wife's eight months pregnant, so progress has slowed recently."

No reaction. I panic, and forget the primary hindrance to my plans - all the bloody rain. Perhaps this is the end of my allotment adventure, thrown out of the community in disgrace.

I wonder who blew the whistle. Was it the retired couple across the way? Or perhaps my shabby neighbour made a tactical nomination? Unfortunately my plot is adjacent to the car park, a location which invites judgement.

Finally, the clerk breaks her impassive demeanour.

"That's ok. Some people get a bit funny about these things, that's all."

Phew, a reprieve. I hastily pay the renewal fee and exit, before an appeal can commence.

My finest bed

So ended my first year in the secret world of allotments. It's been an amazing journey (as they say on X Factor). Here's some memorable moments:

A sequel beckons. Will part-deux be bigger box office? It's certainly got a bigger cast.

Beyond compost: 4 other ways to save money at the allotment

2008-04-16T15:54:00.005+01:00

I don't know about you, but money's getting tight around here. So I've been thinking, how can I save money at the allotment? Let's qualify that. I'm looking to spend no more than £5 per month on allotment-related stuff.

Luckily, I'm not the first person to ask this sort of question. I've done a bit of research, and I've found some actions that should keep me under my limit. Maybe they'll help you if you're looking to trim your gardening budget.

1. Cook a pot of nettle soup

Why buy fertilizer when you can make your own from stinging nettles? Yep, those stinging nettles. The ones you used to fall in as a kid. They're redeemed. Here's how:

Fill a bucket half full of nettles
Top it up with water
Leave your the nettle soup to mature
When it starts to smell (believe me, you'll know) drain off the liquid into a watering can
Water your vegetables when you would have added liquid fertilizer

Each batch should take a few weeks. Soup-er.

2. Deploy eggshell defences

Slug pellets aren't cheap. Last I heard they weren't very organic either. So why not try egg shells instead?

Rinse them out, crush them and store them in an old margerine tub. Once you've got enough, sprinkle yourself a perimeter around your courgettes. Apparently the slugs head home with new insecurities. Plus, the minerals in the egg shells improve your soil. I'd like to see a slug pellet that does that.

3. Cover your embarassment with cardboard

You know that corner? The one that you haven't managed to put to good use? If you're not careful, it'll be invaded by weeds. You want to mulch. Trust me. But why spend money on some evil-looking black plastic, when you can mulch for free? Here's how:

Acquire a corrugated cardboard box (the bigger, the better)
Peel off any sellotape and any labels you can
Remove any staples
Break the box down and lay it on the offending patch of land
Be sure to overlap the sheets of cardboard so that weeds can't squeeze through the gap
Weigh down the cardboard with stones/bricks/small children

Cardboard won't wreck your organic soil, and will rot down eventually. I learnt this money-saving tip from Jane Perrone's excellent book.

4. Pot-up in The Sun

Apparently, plant pots are the new plastic bags. They cost money as well. Not very much, but money nevertheless. But guess what? You can make your own, out of newspaper. Here's one I prepared earlier.

Grab a straight-sided glass and a couple of sheets of newspaper
Lay the newspaper sheets flat, on top of each other
Fold the newspaper over so it forms a long strip, which is 4-5cm wider than the height of the glass (trim the newspaper if necessary)
Roll the glass up in the newspaper, leaving about 1cm of newspaper poking over the top
Fold the top of the strip over the rim of the glass
Wiggle the glass downwards, out from within the ring of paper
Now hold the glass above the ring of paper and push in into the centre, until the top is level with the folded rim
Fold the bottom of the paper ring onto the bottom of the glass to form the base of the pot
Pull the glass upwards, out of the paper ring
Fill the pot with compost, and you're away

If you had problems following that, try watching this instead:

There you go: a quartet of ideas to reduce your expenditure and recycle things you'd otherwise throw away. And not a mention of greens or browns. Any other ideas for saving money at the allotment?

On the grid

2008-04-02T13:07:00.000+01:00

The sky is blue, the temperature a balmly 18 degrees, as you join us on the kitchen window sill. We're here to watch the first race of what promises to be a captivating second season.

Ten contenders are on the grid, each hoping for a strong start. The hum of idling engines fills the air. The tension is palpable. At this level, under this pressure, there are certain to be mistakes.

Who will reach the first corner in the lead? Who will be forced into retirement before the lap is out? We'll be here watching the contest with you, bringing you the news as it happens. Don't go away.

Rain stopped play

2008-03-12T20:51:00.008Z

I'm not a groundsman. I'm not a builder. I don't trim trees, tarmac roads, or clean windows. I shovel data. I sit in an air conditioned office, under electric lights, peering at characters on the screen.

I don't do weather. No need to call off the typing because it's a bit wet. Don't stop production because the ground it too frosty. Even my leisure activities are situated indoors.

Photograph by Rigmarole, used under Creative Commons license

But lately I work with an eye on the weather forecast. I count the days since the last deluge, and eagerly await the promised weekend sun. Rumours of frost start the klaxons wailing.

This is work in the real world. The weather reigns over my allotment programme. It sure beats computers.

A suspicious start

2008-02-28T13:37:00.003Z

They arrived before Christmas in an anonymous brown jiffy bag. When I peered in, I was startled to discover a jumble of roots and twigs. These were raspberry canes? I had to check wife’s parents weren’t playing a practical joke.

Here they are, planted up in last year’s potato bed. Five twigs standing to attention.

Every now and then they catch my eye, and I think, “you’re having a laugh, this must be a joke”. They're like a test of faith. Which is bad, because I've failed many a test of faith.

Half-baked

2008-02-06T06:59:00.000Z

Don't tell anyone, but I'm rubbish at finishing things. My life is littered with the carcasses of projects that started well and... that was it. Sadly, the allotment is increasingly the venue for my incompletion problem.

Regular readers will know that I've got soil problems. It's very clay-like, which means it doesn't drain, and plant roots can't get a foothold. Last year I planted 25 seed potatoes, and none survived. Not one.

Something had to be done. That something was double-digging (not to be confused with 'double the discount' or 'Double Dragon'). Here's how it works: You dig a trench. You're quite pleased: it looks impressive. Then you roll up your sleeves, mosey right into the trench and keep digging, turning over the soil at the bottom of the trench.

At this point you have to be careful not to stand on the soil you've already turned over. If you're like me you end up hopping from foot to foot, looking like a solitary morris dancer. It's not conducive with the gruff allotment reputation I was hoping to cultivate.

When I double-dig I add sharp sand, because someone told me it was the cheapest way to break up clay soil. It seems to work, but you need a lot. I've got through 40 bags so far.

So, you've got your trench and its base has been turned over. You're knackered by now. Next you dig a second trench alongside the first. And, here's the clever bit, the soil you remove gets put into the first trench. The old switcheroo. As trench two gets deeper, so trench one gets filled in.

The spell is broken, the water drains properly, the plant roots have space to stretch and all is right with the world. Or it would be, if I was good at finishing things off.

I was doing ok. I'd double-dug three beds successfully. I started the fourth. Then it rained. The trench filled with water. I waited for the water to drain. And waited. Two months later, the trench is still full with water. You see, the soil's too compacted and clay-like, so the trench won't drain, and because it won't drain I can't dig it, which would help it drain...

Last weekend I decided it was time to right what once went wrong (I watched too much Quantum Leap as a kid). Armed with a bucket, an ice cream tub and a yoghurt pot, I bailed out the trench. Daughter was mystified. Six buckets, 8 ice cream tubs and countless yoghurt pots later, the paddling pool was reduced to a muddy puddle.

I went home a happy man. On Sunday I returned, armed with a spade and renewed optimism. I was confronted with a half-full trench. Had it rained? I didn't see any rain. Maybe someone is watering the hole to test my character.

I've had enough. I'm going to bail it out again. Then I'm going to fill it in. Then I'm to pretend this never happened. You see I've developed a new survival strategy for starting too many things: denial.

Rubber stamped

2008-01-27T06:37:00.000Z

I've been tagged by my esteemed friend Carlton. So, without further ado, here are seven things I approve off:

Movies
Competitive sport
Growing what you eat
Forgiveness
Cycling
Photography
Eco-balls

I'm tagging Soilman, Mel, Welsh Girl and Matron. I'm interested to hear what you folks approve of. And the rest of you, what sparks your approval?

Topsy-turvy

2008-01-21T14:58:00.000Z

A potato in a box. Same potato, two different poses. Transformation by 180 degrees, I think they call it. Take a look, I'll explain later.

Last week I waltzed into a garden centre, with the confidence of a man who belongs in such places, and picked up some seed potatoes. Funny things seed potatoes. They're seeds but they look just like potatoes. So what do they grow seed potatoes from? Confused.

Now I'm chitting. A new skill to add to my allotment CV (I also dig, mulch, and sweat). The deal is that you leave the seed potatoes out in the daylight and they start sprouting limbs. Then, when they've warmed up and are gathering steam, your transfer them to the plot and they run amok.

My adventures in chitting have led me to discover a rather fascinating vegetable fact. A potato has a top and a bottom. I've venture to say I've eaten thousands of potatoes in my life, but somehow this rudimentary anatomy has escaped me.

Apparently the end with the most eyes is the top (that's the left photo above). The end that's not the top is the bottom. There you go. Amaze your friends with this trivia next time they put spuds on your plate.

I explained all this to daughter. She's taking great delight in picking up each potato in turn, counting the eyes, and pronouncing a top and bottom. A useful life skill, I think.

Mayday! Mayday!

2007-12-30T21:30:00.000Z

the allotment underground have flu. We're shutting down non-essential functions to preserve power to life support. Rest assured we will return in the new year, with a troublesome Lemsip addiction.

In the meantime, why not console yourself with the writing of somemore more talented than us:

Hymn
Soilman
stuff what I have written

The links are on the left - I mean right. I can't be bothered to add them here

Happy New Year to our readers. That's right, both of you.

bleaurgh.

A local allotment for local people

2007-12-21T20:20:00.000Z

We don’t see much of our neighbours these days, do we? Our community is a net stretched over a wide area. It’s almost surreal - that we know so little about those so close to us.

I like it that I meet local people at the allotment. I happen across them as I walk to the newsagent or the bus stop. One day I'll see them at the school gates.

Remember how that used to happen when we were young? We'd bump into friends and acquaintances as we roamed the streets. It doesn't happen much these days does it? My friends are all a car ride away.

Night shift

2007-12-06T13:54:00.000Z

The clock in the car reads 21:09 as I coax the engine to life. The streets are quiet now. Only the rhythm of tyre on tarmac breaks the silence.

No sleeping taxi driver bars my way tonight. The cold padlock chills my fingers as I fumble the key. I pass through the gates, my headlights dissecting the gloom. Oops - watch the trench.

Traffic scuttles along the neighbouring road, but here everything is muted. Distant streetlights silhouette a wheelbarrow, a scarecrow. A rustle – what was that? Silence.

I make my way to the plot. Frost sparkles on the cardboard. Moisture streaks the compost bin. My feet squelch as I move around.

Everything is waiting. Poised. The potential is breathtaking.

Dwarfed

2007-11-29T13:46:00.000Z

My plot is big. So big, my house could fit into it twice over. I’d boast that it’s visible from space, but you can see everything from space these days.

Size has its advantages. I’ve ample space to host my long-term projects, so my manure (stop sniggering) can rot in peace in a quiet corner. I occasionally stumble across overgrown treasure as I navigate my territory, which makes for a nice – if painful – surprise.

However, a large spread demands time and attention. Right now I’m focusing my efforts on the front left quarter. Meanwhile brambles and nettles have joined forces and are invading the rear at an alarming pace. I’m stoically ignoring the attack, whilst I focus on the task in hand.

Truth be told, I’d prefer a smaller plot. You’ll often find me gazing longingly at the compact but pristine plot across the way. Still, you play the hand you’re dealt, don’t you?

A few months ago I read a post about Russian allotments. Blimey, those ruskies are serious about growing food. 600 square metres! That’s not a plot: that’s a ranch.

Now I’m inspired. All of a sudden size has newfound possibilities. A pond perhaps?

Coming of age

2007-11-18T21:00:00.000Z

A year in the making, our compost has at last born fruit.

Is it dark? Tick
Is it crumbly? Tick
Is it moist? Tick
Does it smell slightly sweet? Not really

I've deployed the spoils as mulch on an empty bed, where it'll keep the weeds down and improve my soil at the same time.

It used to be rubbish, producing greenhouse gases in landfill somewhere. Now it's conditioning my soil, free of charge. I love this allotment alchemy.

The road to compost glory hasn't been smooth. I made the classic 'greens overload' mistake, which set me back half a year. Then I neglected to read the fine print: 'fruit scraps' and 'crushed eggshells'. Months later I discovered whole onions lurking in my compost and eggshells unchanged by their incarceration.

Lessons have been learnt, as the Government likes to say, and I've moved up the ladder to 'Junior Composter'. Watch your back Titchmarsh, I'm on the fast track.

Squash versus Man

2007-11-02T13:40:00.000Z

Squash waited. For months he’d tormented Man.

Squash has a reputation for prolific growth. He’s known to envelop vast swathes of plot. But not this summer, not this place: the game was afoot.

Squash sniggered.

Man was confused. Why did this Goliath confine himself to single square foot? Perhaps he was sick.

Squash escaped. A fortnight before the close of play, he made a break for freedom. He burst from his prison across the neighbouring path.

Man was perplexed by this strange turn of events. His books shed no light on this strange pattern of growth. Still, his optimism returned. Maybe he would feast after all.

The frost arrived.

Squash pulled the plug, deflating with unseemly haste. In a matter of hours he’d expelled all life from his lungs.

Man is disappointed. Maybe next year.

Squash knows better.

Deep in the underground lair, a plan takes shape

2007-10-25T10:20:00.000+01:00

As autumn cedes to winter, my thoughts are turning to next year. I'm tired of digging. I want to grow something, that's what I signed up for. It's time to plan, a much underrated part of allotment life.

Step 1: pick the team

My allotment advisors recommend I compile a wish list of my favourite fruit and veg. I'm a realist, I know aubergine is but a pipe dream. After this year's potato disaster my sights are set decidedly lower: I'm after whatever will survive.

So, I'm relying on potatoes and kale to provide a defensive backbone. I'll supplement them with some talent that's done well on neighbouring plots: raspberries and runner beans. Courgettes will make a return - they've proved their worth. Lastly, I feel compelled to add sweetcorn to the mix. Stroke of genius, or flight of fancy?

Step 2: choose the formation

Here's where things get decidedly tricky. I need to think about sunlight. I need to think about drainage. I need to think about crop rotation. I need to lie down.

Surprisingly, height is a big worry. Some crops, beans in particular, grow rather tall, overshadowing their lesser colleagues. That sort of behaviour puts noses out of joint.

Still, despite the complications, I've managed to assemble a notion of a plan. I'd paused to bask in the glory of a cunning kale/spinach combination, when Wife remarked that I hadn't consulted her.

Ah yes, it's our allotment. Silly me. Back to the drawing board then. What do you mean you don't like potatoes?

Apples are not the only fruit

2007-10-12T06:40:00.000+01:00

This is going to sound stupid. Promise you won't laugh? Until recently I had no idea what time of year apples are harvested. It never crossed my mind. After all, they're always on the supermarket shelves, aren't they?

Isn't that weird, that my concept of food was so disconnected from nature's calendar? Supermarkets promote the idea that fruit and vegetables are available all year round. And they are: if you're willing to ship them across the globe.

Transporting food this way chucks vast amounts of Carbon Dioxide into the atmosphere. That's bad – ask Al Gore. Even worse: many of these food miles are pointless.

British apples are in season from September to January. So, what's the point in shipping New Zealand apples all the way to the UK in these months? It's an expensive luxury. Expensive for the planet, that is.

So, please please please try and eat to nature's timetable. If British food's in season, choose it over the imported stuff. (But be suspicious of British bananas or pineapples. Chances are, they were grown under rows of patio heaters.)

You'll rediscover the rhythms of the food year. It's natural to only eat apples in the autumn and winter – that's how nature works. Your food will also have less dodgy chemicals applied. How else do they keep it fresh over its 20,000 mile journey?

The poor of the world will thank you.

Courgettes storm first AU Awards

2007-10-11T13:00:00.000+01:00

Courgettes led the field at the the first annual Allotment Underground Awards last night, picking up 'best crop'. Initially touted as a favourite, the plant had been eclipsed by a late sweetcorn comeback.

Here are the full results from the night:

Best crop: courgettes

Judged declared: "A rousing debut in a lacklustre field."

Best pest defence: beer

Judges praised its stunning opening night, when 85 slugs were dispatched.

Best recycling: rabbit bedding

Widely regarded as an ingenious entry, head and shoulders above the competition.

Best blog: Soilman's Allotment Blog

A surprise win, beating off stiff competition from Horticultural.

Best book: The Allotment Keeper's Handbook by Jane Perrone

One judge remarked, "It's rare to find a book which educates and entertains in equal measure, a worthy addition to the bookshelf of any allotmenteer."

The turnout for the awards was small, but the organisers remain upbeat, convinced the ceremony will become a fixture of the allotment calendar.

A clean slate

2007-10-05T13:57:00.000+01:00

As you can see, our strawberries are settled into their new home. They seem unaffected by their rescue and subsequent journey. I'm hoping they'll flourish gratefully, showing their newfound security in a bountiful crop.

For the record, here's the wilderness we plucked them from:

Our operation seems to have gone unnoticed. I'll keep you posted.

Not just a pretty face

2007-09-28T16:24:00.000+01:00

Let me introduce a force for good in my life: worms. They’re brilliant. These cheerful fellas leave little tunnels in the soil as they tour the land. “So what?” you may ask. Well, said passages bring much needed air and drainage to my leaden soil.

That alone would be cause for celebration, but worms have a few more tricks up their sleeve. For example, they eat organic stuff. An old allotment ruse is to leave manure on top of the soil over winter; the worms will eat it, mixing it with the soil, and it’ll all be gone by spring. Great soil, no digging required (thank God).

Mr Worm’s appetite is one of the driving forces of compost. He eats your rubbish, and turns it into free nutrients with which you can replenish your plants. What a helpful chap.

Daughter likes worms too. She’ll glimpse them from afar with an exuberant cry: “Wiggly worm! Wiggly worm!” Unfortunately, handling them requires dexterity she has yet to acquire. The worms die a torturous death, bludgeoned by her affection. I’m left rather queasy, with the feeling I’ve betrayed a friend.

(Photo from flickr - taken by blugeoner86 and made available under Creative Commons license)

Lovable rogue

2007-09-21T15:17:00.000+01:00

He’s quite a looker. His smooth leaves and emerald hues evoke a rich, shady world. So I cut him some slack. The rest of the plot was dishevelled; he was a pretty face.

But now, he’s overstepped the mark. He’s got fat on my affections: he’s become a shrub. He dwarfs the other plants, empowered by his position beside the manure heap. It’s time to end this doomed relationship. Before it’s too late.

Making a comeback

2007-09-20T12:09:00.000+01:00

They're back. Three months after they vanished, Len and Alison are working their plot as if nothing ever happened. When we spoke, they made reference to the lack of success they'd had this year. Perhaps this was a subtle nod to their absence.

I wonder what happened. I'll probably never know.

Alchemy

2007-09-13T13:05:00.000+01:00

It's amazing what comes in handy at the allotment. Cut grass becomes a blanket to suppress rebellious weeds; shredded paper, a tonic to heal my compost. Even the humble margarine tub finds new service: as a trap for predatory slugs.

I'm well aware that you can buy slug traps from the garden centre, along with plastic sheeting to keep weeds at bay, and all manner of compost-enhancing chemicals. But that’s too easy. There's a wonderful satisfaction to be found in re-purposing waste. Each piece of litter presents a puzzle, a money-saving opportunity with an environmental pay off.

A few months back, I had an embarrassing problem with my compost. Too many 'greens', not enough 'browns'. The compost was coming out mushy instead of crumbly. Meanwhile, my neighbour was throwing out his rabbit bedding each week, oblivious to its value as a 'brown'. Now, he sends half a bag less rubbish to the landfill, and my compost is redeemed. FantasticHow strange, that in modern, consumerist, Britain, I've got my eye on the rubbish. I feel like a bit of a freak. Shouldn't I be loading up my credit card?