Big Cheesy Grin

Oh joy! Oh excitement! Oh hurrah, hurrah, HURRAH!!!!!

(Can you guess I am excited? Can you guess I am dancing a Morris Dance with Primrose and Daisy, Pandora, Phoebe and Tybalt? Can you guess who has the biggest bells?)

Well, here I sit, a mahoosive smile on my face because I have just had a phone call.
'Oh yes?' I hear you say. 'What, pray tell, was the subject of the phone call of which you have just taken?'
'I shall tell you,' I say. 'As soon as I can prise this enormous grin off my face.'

You see, a couple of months ago, I sent a secret e-mail. I told no-one, not even Andy, because I didn't want to get my hopes up. I received an e-mail back. It was encouraging but not hopeful, if you understand what I mean. And sometimes, when one has a secret plan or desire, it is best to keep it quiet so you don't have to explain yourself to anyone, or answer any awkward questions. So I kind of put the e-mail to the back of my mind.

'Denise,' I hear you saying, 'just SHUT UP with the enigmatic waffling in code and flippin' tell us what on earth it is you are talking about.'
'Okay,' I say, because actually I am so excited I just want to stop blogging and get on with some planning...

...because....

...this Saturday...

...I am meeting a man... (Steady on there!)

...about...

...AN ALLOTMENT!!!

Oh yes, dear reader, Much Malarkey Manor is back in allotmenteering mode!

For those who don't know, Andy and I ran an allotment for over five years. Then, two years ago (because I stupidly went back to work full time and teaching is a jealous master who doesn't like you having a life beyond the classroom) we had to give it up because we just didn't have the time or the energy to commit to running it properly.

But (queue the violin music) I missed the allotment. I didn't miss string woman and her pathetic, artificial boundaries, or the man who insisted my blackberries weren't blackberries when they clearly were, but I missed growing stuff, which is what allotmenteering is all about, really. And in early Spring, when the seed catalogues start plopping through the letterbox, I pore over them and think, 'look at those aubergines....what magnificent beasts.' I stare forlornly at the seed potatoes in the garden centre. I try to avoid gardening programmes because I fear developing a fit of pique as Monty Don prepares his seed bed and waxes lyrical about baby beetroot. I stare with loathing at the pre-washed carrots that taste of soap that end up in my shopping trolley and disintegrate into mush in boiling water. I think, we have hens. I could grow them lovely cabbages for Winter.

And now a plot has become available! And it is on a site which is exactly 7 and a smidgeon minutes walk from our front door. ( I know this because I have timed it.) So no getting in a car and travelling across town. I can nip home for a quick loo break in the middle of the day and nip back again for the afternoon shift. We can be instantly on hand for watering if we have a heat-wave summer (ha!).

The nice allotment man who called said that the available plot is right by the river that runs alongside the site. And it also has a shed! We never had a shed on our old allotment,well, not one that didn't fall down in the first gust of wind and never stood again.

So I am meeting Nice Allotment Man on Saturday morning at 10.30 to assess the plot.

The weather forecast is for snow...I don't care... I am already planning for beans!