Back to the Allotment, Where Stuff is Happening

We're on a roll, it seems. The allotment remains almost as tidy as we left it, so we tidied it up some more. Wish I'd bought the strimmer sooner- it saves so much work.

  The potatoes are beginning to flower, so they've had a bucketful of water. Yes, a bucketful. Each. We may have had some rain recently, but it's not nuch in evidence up on my allotment.
  Three carrot plants are holding their own, despite the slugs. Only one of the beetroot I planted has made it. The O.H. set off with the strimmer while I planted the beetroot seedlings. Well, one can hope, can't one?
  The peas now have pods and may be

ready in a week or ten days. There is no sign of the french beans (ooh la-la), so I planted some more. They always seem to need two or three attempts before they consent to grow. As there is no sign of the beans, I assume something ate them.
  There's a rather lovely wild poppy growing in the middle of one bed. It's partially seeded, so a mental note to oneself to save some pods when they're ripe to go in my garden. Fat chance I'll remember, but I can only try.
 The squashes are looking better and are just about to  flower. Something's had a go at one, but it's big enough to take it, I think.
  The onions are looking a mixed bag. They've had a good weed and water, as the longest day is nearly upon us, and they will soon stop growing and start swelling.

The OH kindly tidied up the fruit patch, which is always a law unto itself, recovering as he did, a small crop of ripe strawberries. The gooseberry bush is laden and the raspberries beginning to ripen. So home and a hot bath and change of clothes, because folks, I am going out tonight. Yes, the P&J and I are supporting his  judo club's quiz night tonight. The OH was invited, but declined, saying it wasn't his thing. It's got nothing to do with the European cup being on the telly. Or the rugby. Or the cricket...

June is Bustin' and things are looking good

  It is, I think, well known that the British are obsessed with the weather. In a country that can experience what seems like all four seasons in one day, we talk about it and grumble about it, stating the obvious (nice day, isn't it?), complaining (it's too hot/cold?), and defining ourselves by it (I'm a Spring/ Summer/ Autumn person). Is anyone a winter person? I mean winter in Britain, not somewhere that enjoys winter sports because they get snow and ice (what we would probably call a proper winter, even though we rarely have one). Most winters here are wet and miserable, and getting wetter, it would seem.
 Summer also can be a bit hit and miss. Us Olders (I do not yet consider myself of sufficient years to label myself an Oldie) still hark back to the summer of '76, a summer I recall as full of sun and heat, though it probably wasn't anywhere near as good as I think I remember. We were living near the coast that year, and I remember the trek through the footpaths with my then friend, Tina Ricks, to a secluded beach to which we had access. And I remember my older sibling turning to beckon me into the water, unaware that a huge breaker was rearing up behind her. I laughed heartily, while she screamed as the wave hit. She probably doesn't even remember it.

  This year's summer got off to a galloping start, leading in with a dry, warm Spring. We were grateful. Gardens got the attention they deserved. The allotment got an early start. I actually remembered to plant my veggies at the right time. Then we started to complain it was too hot, so Summer sent Rain, to give us something else to moan about. The rain, however, has been interspersed with sunny, warm periods, and while it may not be ideal weather for a day on the beach with the kids, it has been ideal growing weather, and everything that's been planted is coming on apace- if it can grow big enough before the slugs or pigeons find it.(Two lots of beetroot have mysteriously disappeared. I'm not naming names, but the local pigeons are looking exceptionally rotund and healthy).

The tomatoes in the greenhouse are already bearing tiny fruit; the Scotch Bonnet chillies are getting ready to ripen. There are tiny fruits on the olive. The potatoes are flowering, the cucumbers are about to flower, and we have just picked and tasted our first  cucamelon fruits. What? I hear you ask. Stick your mouse on the word to find the link. Essentially, they are bite-size cucumbers.
  Tomorrow, we hope to get up to the allotment and tidy it up. I will also put in some beetroot that I have been growing in the greenhouse, and see how they fare. Assuming pigeons are the culprits, it might be a good idea to put some netting out, to cover the beetroot- net curtains, in my case. I will report back in a couple of weeks if this has been successful. The P&J will be most disappointed if he doesn't have his supply of

fresh beetroot this summer. He's been very keen on the stuff ever since I told him about it turning your pee red if you eat enough of it.

Bees buzzing on my cotoneaster

A Week Off, Slugs, Snails and the Cat

So, a week off, stuff planned, and not done... well, much really. Actually, that's a lie. I did clean the mould off from around the kitchen window, and the window pane itself, so now I can see the greenhouse at the bottom of the garden (I'm loving that greenhouse). And I finally accepted that only I can see the coffee and various other unspeakables on the kitchen cabinet doors and wall, and cleaned them myself, with much loud muttering. I've given the loo and the bathroom a good clean, only to have my work undone by the P&J, who had somehow got oil all over the end of one leg of his jeans, and then proceeded to tread it all over the bathroom carpet, and then the landing and dining room carpets.
  I also managed to get most of the stuff we cut down the previous weekend into compost bags, which the OH took up the tip for me- but not without first telling a neighbour all about it, as though he had to carry it to the tip bag by bag, and not just dump it all in the car.
  And we did manage to get up to the allotment yesterday, to hack back the jungle that has grown up since we were last up there. It looks tidy now, though we have yet another series of alternating warm and sunny/ wet and windy days forecast, which is generally great growing weather, though, unfortunately,  for weeds and grass as well.
 The peas are looking good. I've never seen them look so lush. I'm expecting great things from them. The beetroot has disappeared- again, but some of the carrots have made it out. The potatoes look okay, except the ones next to the empty plot next door, which is evidently harbouring snails and slugs by the thousands. As are my fennel plants, which seem to be being used as a snail hotel this year, and from which the slimy creatures are attacking my onions. The snails have been evicted, and I have left word for the local thrush population to get its act together.
  The beetroot is now being raised in the greenhouse, where neither pigeon or

slug can get at them. I spent this morning transplanting them into cardboard pots (the beetroot, silly) so they can be planted without disturbing their roots, when they're big enough to have a chance of withstanding slugs and pigeons.

While I was planting, our resident blue-tit parents were busy feeding their young, which they have hatched in a hole in the apple tree I'm trying to cut down. It's rather a stupid place to raise a family ( though I am, of course, too polite to point that out to them), as the hole is within easy reach of the cat, and there could be a massacre when the fledglings try to leave. Consequently, I have wrapped some chicken wire around the tree, to make life difficult for the cat, when she's feeling better.
  Yes, the cat has not been well. She was cheerfully batting the dog around the head yesterday, but this morning she didn't want to move, didn't want to eat, and, as she's 15 years old and has been eating rats, we took her up to the vets' so I could spend another £80.
 

It turns out she has got a throat infection and a temperature, so that was 2 lots of antibiotics and a bottle of metacalm, and instructions to bring her back tomorrow if she's still not eating, or Sunday, if she's no better. Get her something tasty, he said, something that will tempt her. So we got her some of Auntie Lilly's chicken dinner. She (the cat, not Aunt Lilly) nearly took my hand off, and actually demanded the second half of the tub when she'd finished the first. So I assume the antibiotics are starting to work. Unless, of course, it is all a ruse  to get a better quality cat food...