Silence is golden

Listen. Can you hear that? Isn't it lovely? It is the sound of Miggins and Pumphrey pottering in the North Wing, of Slocombe and Poo pottering in the South Wing, of prolapsed bottoms staying put, of feathers regrowing to cover pink bottoms, of plants growing quietly on the patio and in the greenhouse, of polytunnel up and finished. It is the sound of quiet contentment at Much Malarkey Manor. I'm not going to say it will last, but for the moment I am going to enjoy it by sitting here and doing nothing.

I feel I deserve to do nothing this afternoon. I went swimming this morning, came home, tidied the house. I cut all the squash bottles I've been saving since before Christmas into two pieces- the bottom cylindrical piece to go over young tender seedlings recently planted out on the allotment in order to save them from slugs, snails and pigeons, the top funnel part to be inserted pointy end down, one next to each plant in the polytunnel so water can be directed straight to their roots instead of being sprayed wildly all over the leaves and thus inviting trouble with fungal infections. I walked to the allotment, opened the tunnel (blimey it was hot) and spent two hours doing weeding and watering and clever Heath Robinson things with dissected squash bottles. Then I walked home in what can only be described as Sahara desert conditions, reaching the front door just before melting point.

I had lunch, texted Heather to make sure she was okay (her erstwhile ex-friend is causing trouble again - what is wrong with the girl? ) and then I thought, better do my blog.

There was a minor worry last night when I went to refill the chickens' water stations (must be done twice a day in hot weather as they don't half get through some water. If you sit close to a chicken when they are drinking water, you can hear their crops gurgle. It is very entertaining. I've been thinking about doing Britain's Got Talent next year. Me and the hens, on stage, gurgling to something by Take That or Motorhead. Bet we make the semi's at least!) I happened to glance at Mrs Slocombe and my initial thought at what I saw was 'Oh, for heaven's sake, she's escaped to the tattoo parlour and had 'I love Guns'n' Roses' tattoed on her neck.' I've had words with her about this before. 'You'll look silly when you get old and your skin starts sagging,' I said. But on closer inspection the long streaky bits of blue turned out to be...

...BRAND NEW FEATHERS!!!!

Yes, Slocombe the feather plucker is actually growing feathers rather than trying to pull them out! Now this could mean either a) she is calming down in her new situation a deux or b) she is restocking for another manic bout of feather eating. I'm hanging onto the first option. I think it is the pecka-block I brought them. I often see Mrs S pecking at it like a demented pneumatic drill. The trick, I think, is that pecka blocks are incredibly hard so a lot of intense pecking has to be done to get even the smallest piece of corn off it.

So, my next project (when I've spent another hour or two doing nothing and enjoying the silence) is going to be to make my own pecka blocks. Cluckinghen Palace will become a pecka block heaven. It will be like you've accidentally walked into the Tate Gallery during their 'Pecka Block' season. I've found a recipe already, on a marvellous website at http://www.poultrychat.com/ and it seems the trick is to cook long and slow to get the resultant pecka block as hard as possible.

'It also says you can add your own ingredients to the basic mix,' says Miggins who is looking much better, bottom wise. 'So I've taken orders. I would like mozzarella, pesto and extra pine nuts, Mrs Pumphrey would like walnut whips and candyfloss, Mrs Poo wants vegetable korma, poppadoms and raita, and Mrs Slocombe wants a Lion Bar, Marmite and sugar puffs.'

'You'll be lucky, ' I say.
'Or I could prolapse my bottom again,' says Miggins. 'Because I can, you know.'
' Don't you dare,' I say.
'Looking forward to those pecka blocks,' says Miggins, as she heads of cheerfully, and quietly, to the Dowager House.

And finally, here is a picture of the completed polytunnel. (It's very hot inside.)

The Great Bank Holiday Polytunnel Project Day 2

With drill recharged and the additional equipment of a step-ladder to avoid a repeat of yesterday's inelegant dangling off the top rail and swearing a lot as he tried to attach important screws, Andy and I set off for the allotment for Day 2 of the polytunnel experience. At the allotment, yesterday's handiwork stood tall, proud and hoopy like a tall, proud, hoopy thing.

As Andy immersed himself in a pile of power tools and bits of wood and metal, I continued my weeding campaign from yesterday. I am pleased to report we are almost weed free and whatever weeds that pop up for the rest of the growing season can now be dealt with by a bit of swift hoeing. I also made two net cages for the many cauliflower seedlings ('We LOVE cauliflower, don't we Andy?' 'Mm-mmmmm,' says Andy) and cabbage seedlings that needed planting out, and sowed some seeds straight into the ground - red beetroot, golden beetroot, carrots and spring onions. I stood and admired the flowers on the blackberry bush and strawberry plants and whilst I was upside-down and head long 'neath the gooseberry bushes weeding out some buttercups, I noticed some tiny, weeny gooseberries starting to swell.

We both agree the allotment is looking pretty darn good at the moment!

Today I was called upon to hold the spirit level against the door frames and to draw lines on the door frames where the wood needed cutting as Andy stood, arms aloft, holding up the door frames. I resisted the urge to tickle him until the very last moment when naughtiness got the better of me. In I went for the tickle. Andy, alarmed, stepped back and trampled my raspberries. 'Mind the raspberries!' I shrieked. 'Mind my armpits,' shrieked back Andy. Touche!

My opinion was also required vis a vis the location of the diagonal brace bars.

'They don't look right, sitting at that angle,' said Andy, frowning 'neath his big floppy hat.
'What angle?' I said, because I couldn't see anything on account of the fact my even bigger floppy hat was rammed very tightly onto my head because of the wind. (Atmospheric, not personal.)

So we wiggled and jiggled the diagonal brace bars, slid them up and down a bit, turned them upside-down even but there was only one way they were going to fit as per the instructions, and that was the way Polytunnel Maestro Andy had fitted them.

A nice old chappie from the lottie across the way and along a bit mooched over and enquired after our polytunnel e.g where we got it, how much it cost, the pros and cons etc. He admired it and declared it a 'wonderful thing,' and then wandered off with the kind of wander that suggested he might very well be getting one himself.

And he was right, that nice old chappie. Our polytunnel is a wonderful thing. It adds gravitas and grace to our plot. It confirms that we are SERIOUS about growing our own organic food. That we have moved up a step on the self-sufficiency ladder. Walking up to unlock the main gate to let Andy drive through as we finished our allotment stint today (another 5 hours!), I found myself very much in mind to make a jazzy number '87' to add to identity our plot.

And here is another picture so you can see progress for today.

Polytunnel growing

How to grow a polytunnel:
1) Buy a packet of polytunnel seeds. You only get one in a packet and they aren't cheap, so make sure you wait until the time is right before sowing.
2) Take polytunnel seed from packet.
3) Plant seed. Water well.
4) Wait a day
5) Voila! Instant polytunnel!!

...and then Andy woke up...

Did you know that today was National Naked Gardening Day? No, neither did we until we got back from 5 and a half hours at the allotment and got to read the newspapers. What an opportunity we missed there.

Anyway, the sun was up, we were up, we were breakfasted (home grown eggs on home made bread toasted into toast), we packed plenty of water, insect repellent, pink radio and silly floppy hats, and off we went to the allotment to start the Great Bank Holiday Weekend Polytunnel Project. Andy had read the instruction book, watched the 'How to Build a Polytunnel' video on the internet, gathered together the relevant tools and braced himself for some Heavy Duty Man Building. Gggrrrrrrr!!!!

'You never know,' I said, as we zipped through town, 'someone might offer to give you a hand once you get started.'
'No!' said Andy. 'I don't want any help. I want to build this ALL BY MYSELF, do you hear? ALL BY MYSELF!!! Mwahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaa!!!!'

There was a look in Andy's eye. A look that said 'I want to build this polytunnel ALL BY MYSELF!!!Mwahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!'

So, I settled down to some serious weeding, and earthing up of potatoes (again...good grief, we'll have our own mountain range soon if they keep shooting up at this rate), and watering the beans and peas which are being very good and twirling themselves around the poles and netting I put up for them. And Andy settled himself down with a large tape measure, a long spirit level, a spade and several bits of meccano-type metals of various shapes, sizes and bendiness.

It was hot. The sun beat down mercilessly on our silly floppy hats. An insect landed on my arm ready to take a bite then flung itself off and expired when it tasted my eau de insect spray. If we had known it was National Naked Gardening Day we might have been tempted to give it our full support.

We swigged from our water supplies.
'I hope you are doing any diggin gover there!' shouted Andy. 'Don't make your foot worse now it's getting better.'
'Okay! I yelled back, surreptitiously hiding the fork behind my one good leg.

Periodically, I was summoned to assist with the process of accurate measuring. You have to get your corners and angles just right. Andy wasn't specific about what would happen if we were a bit skew-whiff with our corners and angles, but I imagine ripped polythene might figure heavily somewhere in the equation. Much use was made of Pythagoras's theorum, much jiggling of base plates and hoop anchors was done until the magic words 'That'll do. It's within tolerance,' were uttered.

And then! Up went the first hoop!!
'Good grief!' I said, staring into the sky. 'It looks like the Millennium Dome!'

Up went Hoop 2 and then Hoop 3. And then the top bar to hold it all steady. It is HUGE!!! Wow!!! And oddly enough, it has given personality to Plot 87.

Andy's screw driver ran out of power at this point so we went home.

And do you know what he's doing now, this very moment?

'What's he doing?' says Miggins, peering through the net curtains of Cluckinghen Palace at the banging going on on the lawn (yes, we have a bit of a back lawn growing back). 'He's disturbing my watching of Robin Hood.'
'He's building something,' says Mrs Poo.
'What?' says Miggins.
'Looks like doors for a polytunnel,' says Poo, who knows about these things, having once been an carpenter's apprentice before she hooked up with the Gemsta for a bit of Formula One mechanics.
'Not a toboggan then?' says Slocombe.
'Or a Swedish Sauna?' says Pumphrey, 'it looks like the door to a Swedish Sauna to me.'
'Definitely a polytunnel door,' says Poo. 'I hope he watches what he's doing with that hammer though. What with it being National Naked Gardening Day.'

The polytunnel cometh and Denise and Andy runneth...

On Monday, I was fired up and ready to phone the polytunnel company and ask, all casual-like, that as it's been 4 weeks since I placed my polytunnel order with them and 4 weeks since they took the money from my credit card, WHEN WERE THEY GOING TO DELIVER THE B****Y THING BECAUSE THE TOMATOES/AUBERGINES/PEPPERS ARE TURNING INTO GREENHOUSE TRIFFIDS???? However, they beat me to it and called immediately after breakfast to say my order had been dispatched and would arrive on Wednesday.

'Morning or afternoon?' I enquired. The office lady didn't know but said if I wanted to call back on Wednesday morning they would be in a better position to tell me. What position would that be, I wondered. Organised??

Anyhow, it transpired the question was irrelevant because the polytunnel arrived yesterday. A very small delivery man with a single front tooth appeared at lunchtime in a very large lorry and carried many long parcels, bendy parcels and big boxes into the backgarden, arranging them artfully over the garden furniture, before getting me to sign his clipboard and disappearing toute de suite.

I have no idea if all the right parts have been delivered because I could find neither an invoice nor a piece of paper saying 'This is what should be in your delivery'. It looks like it's all there. There are wooden bits (the doors), shiny bendy metal bits (the hoops for the main frame), straight metal bits (the crop bars and side braces), square metal bits (base plates) and polythene (cover). There is hot spot tape to protect the polythene from frying on the hoops in the summer and repair tape to mend the holes in the polythene your husband made with the scissors in his eagerness to open the delivery box. (Actually, he didn't damage the polythene, but it was a close call).There are also many screw bits, poky bits, twiddly bits and a booklet entitled 'It's All Yours Now, Good Luck, We're Off!'

Andy was very keen to open boxes and read manuals when he arrived home. This is unusual for him as he isn't a great believer in the reading of instructions, preferring the 'chuck it all on the floor and see which bit goes where' method of construction. But no, he's made a list of all the tools needed to construct the tunnel and this morning, over breakfast, issued the first instruction.

'We need to clear the site of weeds,' he said.
Was this the real 'we' or the Royal 'we', I wondered.
'We'll go to the allotment this evening,' he said. 'And start clearing the site.'

Operation Polytunnel is underway.

Meanwhile, I am psyching myself up to start running. I purchased a health and fitness magazine yesterday which had a special 'Anyone Can Run' feature. I also purchased 'Organic Garden and Home' because it had an article on ethical burials and eco-friendly coffins. It's odd, isn't it, how ideas can link together in sometimes sinister ways...

Anyway, the running article was very informative and provided an easy to follow programme for building up towards a 5K run.
'How far is 5K in proper money?' I ask.
'3.107 miles,' says Tybalt.
'How did you know that?' I ask, very impressed at his mathematical prowess.
'I used the conversion feature on my mobile,' he says.

Right. So just over 3 miles. I can walk that in under an hour if I get a shift on. I try and think where I walk to and from that would give me a more tangible idea of how far 5K is and whether I could run it and remain vertical. I decide it is the distance of a round trip to the allotment.
'I could run to the allotment and back,' I say.
'Why would you want to do that?' asks Tybalt.
'It would be quicker?' I say. I realise how very feeble this reason sounds. Unless, of course, I was being chased by a bear in which case it sounds a very excellent reason indeed.

'And which coffin would you like?' asks Tybalt.
'That one there,' I say, pointing to a nice slim willow number with flowers woven in the top.
'You're far too fat for that,' says Tybalt, because tact is one of his better qualities.
'I won't be after I've been following my running programme for a few weeks,' I say.
'True,' said Tybalt. 'Are these two topics related in any way, perchance?'
'I wasn't planning them to be,' I say.

But who can tell in the Great Adventure that is Life? Who knows what is around the Corner of Fate, up the Cul-de-Sac of Co-incidence, along the Avenue of Chance, on the other side of the Fence of Frisson?

Sometimes, you've just got to go with the flow and not think too hard about these things. Because sometimes, if you think too hard, you can think yourself out of some pretty amazing life-changing decisions.

(This last thought was brought to you by 'Psychic Mentor, part of the 'Message From the Other Side' Upstairs Crew who sometimes chuck their thoughts in with mine for no apparent or sane reason. I hope therefore, it makes sense to someone out there who reads this today. If it doesn't, I apologise for my lunacy and promise to keep taking the tablets...!)

You say 'Tomatoes- yuk!' and I say 'TOMATOES! YUM!' And you say 'Do we really need that many?'

The polytunnel has been ordered! It is on its way! Hurrah, because the greenhouse, 'conservatory' and Heather's bedroom window are starting to get a bit full as the seedlings grow and need potting on and take up more and more space.

I have started planning what to do with the new polytunnel. We've ordered a 12' x 10' size, this being the biggest one we can fit in the space available at the allotment. We actually measured the space properly on Sunday with a tape measure, instead of relying on our previous 'arms outstretched' method.' Where once our allotment seemed a HUGE space (especially when the weeds scored a minor victory late last summer), it now seems to be shrinking.

The polytunnel will be home to the tomatoes, aubergines and peppers. I'm going to turn the greenhouse at home over to the cucumbers so I can keep a very close eye on them this year as they have proven to be tricksy little beggars the last two years and I want to do better with them this season. You see how much my life has changed since I gave up teaching? The targets I was set in my last staff appraisal with my line manager at school were things like 'Achieve a 68% GCSE A*-C pass rate' and 'Identify underachieving boys (esp. those on the C/D border) and implement personal achievement plans for each student in order for them to reach their full potential'. And this year, my targets from my line manager meeting with myself are things like 'Grow a longer cucumber' and 'Give Jerusalem artichokes a go, they might taste better than they look.'

Of course, if my cucumbers do underachieve this year, I shall be bottom of the 'Cucumber Growing' league tables and am likely to have to go into a 'Special Measures' regime which will mean I shall be visited by a pompous cucumber consultant who will give me loads of old twaddle about how to maximise the potential of a cucumber even when they've never tried growing one themselves. Only this time, unlike teaching, I shall be able to tell the cucumber consultant to eff off and stick his advice where the sun doesn't shine!

So, here I am planning the polytunnel growing space. I think, 'I'd better check how many tomato/ peppers/ aubergine seedlings I am going to have to accommodate in our new gardening toy, bearing in mind I'll need to allocate space for a couple of deckchairs and a little table for the cucumber sandwiches and Pimms.'

Ooops!

Chilli peppers - 11 (don't listen to anyone who says 'You'll have trouble getting those to germinate'. They are WRONG!)
Sweet peppers - 7
Aubergines - 6
Tomatoes - 72

72!!!???!!! How did that happen?

'Do we really need that many tomatoes?' asks Andy. 'Especially as it's only you that likes them.'

Okay, so I may have gone a bit overboard with the tomato plants. I kind of chucked in a few extra seeds here and there just in case some of them didn't germinate. I planted 4 varieties - Moneymaker (because it was a variety favoured by my grand-dad), Tigerella (which I think are the scrummiest tomatoes EVER!), Garden Pearl ( a cherry tomato because a gardener should always eat cherry tomatoes straight from the vine) and Roma (a plum tomato so I can make passatta to store for winter and beat Sainsbugs at their tinned tomato game).

The trouble is, now I have planted, nutured and grown these little tomato seedlings, I am loathe to cull any of them. I'll find a home for each and every one of those plants even if it means taking the roof off the house, covering it with a gi-normous piece of plastic and turning the attic into 'Growing Facility Number 5.'

'Oi!' says Andy. 'Steady on there, you tomato maniac!'

And now, I'm afraid I shall have to go. I made a nice chicken 'n' sausage 'n' rice casserole thing for dinner last night which included a tin of kidney beans. And today I am having 'bloating issues'.

Mad, sad and dangerous to grow...

Who'd have thought it, eh? Me getting all flustered and excited about polytunnel brochures. This week I sent away for three (brochures, not polytunnels - crumbs, I almost felt Andy having heart failure reading that one) and have spent the last two evenings poring over the intricacies of 'The World That Is POLYTUNNEL!!' Tum-tum-taaaaaaa!!!! It's all hoops, fixings, foundations and stabilisers, not to mention width and length (but more on that later).

I've compared and contrasted the benefits of Superclear polythene against thermal anti-fog polythene. Or does Superwhite polythene with over-netting have the edge? I've become au fait with exotic sounding extras like the anti-hot spot tape, crop bar, storm stay brace and anchor plate. Then there's timber versus aluminium for your base rails and side vents. Or should we go down the trench root? And what about the overhead irrigation kit? Economy or prestige? We don't have to have an overhead irrigation kit but I rather fancy that on a hot day it might be quite pleasant to lie flat on one's back inside the polytunnel and be irrigated oneself. (Rather than irritated, which is usually the case.) It's all rather thrilling, if a little bit sad and middle-aged.

I have to say the best brochure so far is the one by First Tunnels, whose enclosed order form had a tea-bag attached, so I 'can enjoy a cuppa whilst browsing their goods.' I liked this touch enormously; also, their brochure has a nice 'silky' feel to it and is very, very easy to understand so even if I was an intellectually challenged gibbon, I'd still be able to order a polytunnel avec accoutrements in confidence. However, bearing in mind most of my decisions regarding car purchases have been based purely on their colour- 'that's a nice frosty blue one. It looks like the sky on a sunny day' - I shall be careful not to allow myself to be swayed by silky brochures and freebie tea-bags!

And then, to add to the frenzied polytunnel excitement, the postie delivered a copy of 'The Polytunnel Handbook' that I ordered from Amazon a few days ago. This book also feels silky to the touch because, I think, it 'is printed in the UK on recycled paper using vegetable inks by www.greenbooks.co.uk 'Must be a selling feature - 'stroke me, I'm lovely and natural!' So that's my weekend reading sorted.

Andy and I have decided we've space to fit a tunnel that is roughly 10 feet by 12 feet. I say 'roughly' because our measurements are based on us standing at the relevant section of allotment 87 side by side with our arms outstretched, fingers touching and saying things like, 'Well, I'm 5 foot 6, you're 5 foot 11 so that's 11 foot 5 inches plus an extra 6 inches because I've got arms like an orang-utan, then minus the water-tank when considering the length.' We adopted much the same method when assessing whether the huge semi-circular sofa we purchased last year would actually fit in our living room (only we used string for added accuracy.) It worked then, so it'll work now.

I'm a great believer in saying things like 'Of course it'll fit!' The only time I almost came a cropper was when trying to heave the goose in the oven at Christmas. But that was the butcher's fault because I distinctly remembering ordering a small one and he got me a big one, but it went in on the diagonal so all was well in the end and my goose was cooked. I think Heather may have inherited my optimism about big things fitting into small spaces because when she was 3, she put a whole orange Club biscuit in her mouth sideways. I had to break it in half to get it out again. And then there was the time she put a dice up her nostril 'to see if it would fit.' And it did!

So I'm off to make a cup of tea with my free tea bag and settle down with 'The Polytunnel Handbook.' I hope it all ends 'happily ever after'. I love a good story! And with a leading lady called Polly Tunnel, how can it not?