Arresting experience

Many moons ago, when choosing my main subjects at school in preparation for Highers (I was educated in Scotland) I chose art as one of my main subjects. Strange choice I know, and I failed miserably when it came to still life. But somewhere deep down there must be an appreciation of good design and use of colours.

Sometimes it comes out in a way that gives my wife concerns about who she's shackled to. There's a particular shop in St Ives that always has a georgeous window display... fine layout, rich colours well matched, stylish wares. The fact the shop is La Muse, a fine establishment for ladies seeking ball gowns and evening wear, is the source of Linda's worries. It's trendy for blokes to show their feminine side these days, but isn't a cute little number in satin pink going a bit too far?

And I definitely went too far a couple of weeks ago. Only trying to help Linda buy a cardigan to match some trousers. That meant trailing around each ladies clothes shop seeking just the right shade. And after what seems like aeons, with me fighting down the boredom factor, we wandered into The Earth Collection, a small shop with two watchful assistants in attendance who left us to our own devices.

After a few minutes of us both browsing the stock I'd had enough and wandered outside. At that point my wife heard one of the assistants say to the other 'That man's left now'. It dawned on her we'd entered the shop slightly apart and while there I'd browsed separately and we hadn't spoken to each other. It appeared to the assistants I was by myself... a man looking for suitable women's clothing... a transvestite!

Had I by coincidence been browsing the oversized section? Maybe I had my hand on hip at some point. Were they about to call the Police, with me suffering the ignomy of being dragged off to the call of 'Come on now flower, don't give us any trouble'? Whatever the reason for me suddenly achieving a somewhat more 'interesting' status, I'm sticking much closer to my wife from now on!

The mystery of the missing manure

I know it's a bit sad, but there's nothing more exciting to me than feeling the temperature of my compost pile when it's really cooking... steam rises and it really does get hot as all those microbes do their work. And what really warms things up is a good dose of manure mixed in with all the kitchen waste, bunny and chicken poo, cardboard, grass clippings and other vegetable waste from the allotment.

Unfortunately I've not been able to get my hands on any manure for ages. Used to get some lovely stuff for free from a local stables, filling compost bags and transporting it back and forth in my previous car, furiously wiping the windows because of the steam rising from each bag. It was a real slog, taking up a whole afternoon. The arrival of a new smaller Fiat a couple of years ago put a stop to that. In the very earliest of my allotment days I did get a delivery of manure from the groundsman, and did ask about two years ago if he'd do another delivery. He said yes, but it's been a long time coming!

So you can maybe understand my excitement when I got a call from the groundsman yesterday about noon. 'I've just dumped a pile of muck outside your plot' he said. 'That's fantastic! How much do I owe you for that?' '£20, any time will do.'

Told Linda the exciting news. 'I'd better get up there quickly,' said I, 'it'll be blocking the access road and you know what they're like up there... anything that looks unattached disappears pretty quickly'. Never a truer word spoken!

Thirty minutes later there I was happily hurrying towards the allotments. The sun was shining, birds singing and some two hundred yards away from my plot I was hoping the pile of manure was soooooooo huge I might be able to see it. Nope, nothing visible, but there were a few bends in the way, be reasonable!

Coming the other way were Will and Doreen, the couple who tend the allotment plot just opposite and to one side of mine, on their way home wheeling a wheel barrow. We met at the gates and exchanged pleasantries. Their faces took on a strange hue when I excitedly informed them I'd got an early Christmas present waiting for me... a pile of manure. 'There must be some mistake,' Will stuttered 'we asked the groundsman about three weeks ago if he could deliver us some manure.' He then explained the groundsman had said any delivery would arrive on a Tuesday or Wednesday (this was Thursday!) and for some reason the groundsman got mixed up with plots and dumped it outside my plot rather than theirs. Realising my pile of gold might have been filched from under my very nose I tried to be positive and said maybe the groundsman had dumped another pile for me against my second, back plot.

Of course there was no second pile, just a big brown mark on the access road grass where my manure had been as shown above, and several piles of lovely manure on Will's plot where he'd wheelbarrowed the stuff from outside my plot onto his!

A quick call to the groundsman established the manure was meant for me. Met Will on my way back to the car (there was no point hanging around and I was back off to do some decorating as I originally planned). He'd also called the groundsman and now realised what he'd done. Doreen was mortified and had sent him back to apologised. I explained I'd been waiting two years for that delivery... although Will had been promised a delivery only three weeks ago, on the timescales the groundsman works to he only had another 24 months to wait.

All ended on a happy note... the groundsman said he had a spare trailer for this morning and would deliver another pile of manure for me. I'll be on the plot all expectant later this morning. Goodness knows what I'm going to do if nothing arrives and I'm into another long wait. Just couldn't stand the view of all that lovely stuff meant for me just sitting on Will's plot!

Update: As can be seen in the images below, all ended on a very happy if somewhat smelly and steamy note. Got a call early morning to say another delivery made. Flew up to find a huge pile of pretty fresh cow manure.

Initially thought I'd stick it all in one of my compost bins and wasted time emptying and spreading the current contents. Pretty soon realised I had far too much for that and ended up temporarily moving much of it to any spare space I could find in front of the shed since I was under severe time constraints. There's also a load in the compost bin and some in the wheelbarrow. Must be about two year's supply!

Vegetables to plant in November

Nights are drawing in, temperatures falling... it's easy to think there's nothing to raise at this time of year. Think again! Here's a list of vegetables well worth planting in November.

Garlic

Although you can plant some types of garlic as late as early Spring, now is the best time. A good dose of frost encourages the bulbs to split into cloves. I always love planting garlic cloves in Autumn... helps me dream of long hot July days when the crop will be harvested.

To read up fully about how to plant garlic, the history, health benefits and common problems as well as some delicious recipes go to Allotment Heaven: Garlic (allium sativum).

Onions & shallots

Last chance to get onion or shallot sets in before Winter falls. My favourites are Japanese Sensyhu onions... hardy and easy to raise. You'll find planting instructions for onions as well as a full background and recipes at Allotment Heaven: Onions (allium cepa).

Broad Beans

You can sow broad beans from February to May, so why bother in November? Well, it's all about extending the cropping season. If you rely just on Spring sowings you'll be typically harvesting in July and August. With an Autumn sowing you'll also be cropping in June.

Peas

Same principle as for Broad Beans... extend the growing season by planting now.

Checkout challenge

How did I find myself with all the enthusiasm of a condemmed man entering the local supermarket complete with Roy Cropper shopping bag as displayed here? Of course I blame my brother Robert, something I've been doing ever since there was someone else in the family younger than me to shuffle responsibility onto. And since that's all of nearly 60 years it's a wonder he's still speaking to me.

But speak to me he does, and it was over tea at his house on Monday we got onto the shopping habits of the brothers McKinnie. Youngest brother Andy meticulously goes through all the locals rags to cut out supermarket discount vouchers and then motors around the various shops to get the best bargains. Robert took over his household shopping a year or so ago when his working hours changed and he decided he could knock £30 a week off the shopping bill that resulted from Amanda's and Sophie's more creative shopping expeditions.

It was when we came on to my methodolgy that the trouble started. Linda and I have come to an amicable agreement which fulfils both our shopping desires... Linda to have the time to browse and weight up the bargains, me to get the whole painful exercise over as quickly as possible. I sit in bliss in the car reading a good book and listening to Radio 3 and give Linda twenty minutes to get near the checkout, then I breeze in to select a couple of my things (nice bread, wine) before proceeding to the checkout and then away. Sorted!

Robert wasn't happy with this. It defied belief and brought out in him a sense of outrage. How could I do that? Was it not my duty to assist Linda in the executive decision making over tins of beans? How did Linda feel about this? Did she not long for me to accompany her down the aisle of toilet rolls, (as though in a mock recreation of our marriage)?

Ignoring Linda's firm 'NO!', Robert challenged me on the next available occasion to do the shopping and report back. I had to do my own list and complete the excercise with the minimum of assistance.

So I dragged myself through the doors yesterday at 11:55. Immediately assaulted by the very loud music playing over the speaker system. As usual some female pouring her heart out about how she'd been wronged, all summed up in about four words repeated above what sounded like a pneumatic drill rock band. If they played classical music I might hang around for a while... since the supermarket clientele at that time of day look like a coach party from the local old folks home softer music might be much more appropriate. I have hung around the manager tempted to complain a few times, but I've realised it's Co-op Radio they play and the 16 year old who makes up the playlist thinks Beethoven is a film star in the form of a slobbering St Bernard dog.

First job is to consult the list, shown below. Yes, it's in my handwriting. No, I didn't construct it myself... the helpful explanatory notes from Linda make that pretty obvious. And I'd still have been wandering around 24 hours later looking for things if the list wasn't in order of aisle presentation. And yes, it is amazing how I managed to keep my handwriting under control as the list grew, in spite of my increasing sense of despondency and panic.

First selection, apples. Now, I'm all for choice. Choice is good. It's what free market capitalism is all about. But is it really necessary to have 110 different brands of identical looking (and no doubt tasting) apples? And then to smudge up the price differentials by putting special offers on the more expensive varieties so it's really difficult to decide which is the best offer? Here's a small selection of what was on offer.

The next selection was grapes. I not only had to check they looked OK, but also had to open the bag to check they smelled right. Trouble was, there were no grapes at about £1.40... all priced about twice as much. Decided I could just about exist for another week without grapes.

Two items into the list and I'd decided I was never going to make a success of this. Really hard to appy logic to any selections, and now a different young lady was screaming her lungs out over the speakers telling all how she felt about her ex-boyfriend, all in words of one syllable. Terminally bored. Time to just grab and run.

So the rest of the list was completed within 15 minutes, including asking Linda where to find tinned mandarin oranges and a packet of Calgol tablets. Linda was there? Yes, of course she was. She went off to browse the Christmas aisle (in early November... don't get me started on that!) and no doubt keep an eye on me. Oh, and to get a packet of grapes on offer at the target price I'd completely missed.

Linda bolstered my confidence by informing me, since we'd been away and were part way into the standard week, this was only a third of the normal shop. As shown below, looked suspiciously like a full car boot load to me! Will I be repeating the exercise again? For both our sanity, NO!

PS... to date, one day after, we've found I got the wrong tinned tomatoes. More errors will no doubt be revealed.