Welcome to my first blog post. After a couple of false starts, Autumn has settled over suburbia like a damp duvet. The mercury is sinking as I type, and the inappropriate burst of October sun has retreated to the Caribbean.
I was hoping the unseasonable heat wave might have fooled the courgette plants into a flurry of late activity. But sadly, all they managed were a few finger sized offerings which withered as fast as the Indian summer. The courgette cake will just have to wait until next year. And my second crop of French beans, which I planted too late in the season, hasn’t managed a single bean.
At least the pumpkin is bulging. Though having done my back in the other week (note to self: don’t try to lift toddler and double buggy at the same time) I’m still wondering how I’ll manage to extract it from the compost heap.
Fortunately, the allotment has a plentiful supply of kind, willing and attentive men, even if they are mostly between the ages of seventy and ninety. This didn’t stop one of them from insisting on wheeling my barrow full of manure when I was eight months pregnant. If he was worried I was about to go into labour, I was more concerned he might have a coronary. But finding a volunteer to help me pluck the horticultural giant in time for Halloween shouldn’t be a problem.