Dung Beetles

A pile of dung and bits of straw and wood chippings was dumped inside the allotment gates on Friday.
Cue the scene on Saturday, everybody rushing for their barrows shouting "There shit goes." It was as if the massive pile of manure was a beached whale and we the benighted islanders of the lost isle of allotments have descended to take our share of sustenance. Wheelbarrowing the sacred loads of the muck to our own little plot. And mounding it and then cuddling it, muttering "my precious, my precious, all mine."

Still seven barrows up the hill has given me a decent pile to play with. With all that, I haven't had any time to do any digging but I have three days off work and am content to spend them digging and mucking around on the allotment.

But I did manage to clear up the remains of the previous owner who must have been a bit of a gardener. He, I'm presuming there but I've got a feeling, has left a large cold frame and a tool box, both in a state of disrepair and some pots and tools left there and a pair of shoes. Ah, That's why I know it's a man.

He has also left a allotment deity, which I found sitting at the foot of what I think is an apple tree.

On the other plot I managed to sow two rows of the parsnips; to see the difference, and under a polythene cloche some short carrots. Also some chives, to see whether they take off.

Packet of Dreams

Just like the hippy farmer Kevin Costner in Field of Dreams, I keep hearing a voice as I stand on the allotment, well both allotments, on the field of clay allotment, I keep hearing "If you concrete it over, it will be better," fair point, but I will keep persevering with the Paschendale-like slog of digging the clay.
One good point is that I don't have a lot of heavily-armed Germans shooting at me.
Always grateful for small mercies.
But on the second allotment the voice is more beguiling, "If you sow it, it will grow." The possibilities seem endless. Shall I grow melons? Always good to have a nice pair of melons to tuck into. Or maybe peppers? It looks like this site will get pretty hot. Though I'm trying not to think about all the watering that will be needed. Hosepipes are banned, so it will be buckets. i can't help feeling that I might end up like Jean de Berengere in Jean de Florette, broken man from the watering, obsessed with rabbits, driven mad by the avarice of the peasants of Dulwich. Ah peut-etre, on verra, ma jolie lecteure.
Still, it'd be nice to see Emmanuelle Béart flitting around the allotments naked with a flock of goats.
But after listening to the second voice I've bought some more seeds from the organic seed company:
Early Jalapeno
Ring o Fire peppers

and Tender and True parsnips along with Cobham Improved Marrow

also inspired by optimism I'm going to sow some early carrots under a cloche, Paris Market.

And also for the back garden, I have two packets of parsley, Italian Giant. Which was great last year, the smell of fresh parsley, "smells like...like victory" "You just knew that he wasn't going to get so much as a scratch on the allotment."
The parsley is still growing under a cold frame along with some strawberries, which should be a bit early this spring.

A Day in the Life of Denisovich

Clearing the allotment the other day was a bit like a day in Ivan Denisovich, perhaps not as cold and not so much of a threat of dying from the cold but a lot more brambles to be pulled up, and some of those thorns were slicing their way through my gloves. Tough, dirty work but it had to be done or you would lose your standing on the allotment. As a newbie I was wandering around the groups, wheeling barrows, cutting brambles and eventually, eventually pushing twigs into the shredder.

But we did see a frog whilst doing some clearing. it was only a Common Frog, but what do you expect in South London

Potato Frenzy

The other Sunday I went to a Potato fair. Cycling across the hills of South London in a sharply cold wind was not the best and when I got to the fair, which I thought would just be a few people looking at some tatties, I had to fight to get near the potatoes, elbowing my way past middle class voices wondering whether to get Pink Fir or Charlotte. A sign of the new trendiness of the allotments.

Anyway I managed to pick up most of what I wanted.
So I got ,

Vale Emerald, first early, 9 of those

Royal Kidney, second early salad, 15

Belle de Fontenay, early main salad, 10

Maris Piper, main, 11

King Edward, late main, 5

Golden Wonder, late main, 10

that's 60 in total, which is probably about three beds worth.

If there are no potato fairs out there, try Thompson and Morgan's potato section, it's quite good but you have buy a score at a time, usually.