This week I have been mostly cooking with squashes and pumpkins. I know it's only Tuesday, but I may run out of steam with the darn things by the end of the week, so let's run with the enthusiasm now, shall we?
Mostly, I am finding they are best roasted 1) because preparation is simple and 2) most things taste good roasted so it's a fair bet that on serving up at least the food will get eaten and not poked around the plate with a suspicious fork by people saying 'What's this? Will I like it? It looks like poison to me'.
The squash has gone down better than the pumpkin, which in some ways is disappointing as the squash/pumpkin ratio swings wildly in favour of the pumpkin following this year's harvest at the Manor. I like both. So does Andy. And Leane. Chris and Heather nibbled at the pumpkin and left it quietly to one side. So after dinner yesterday evening I made the rest of the pumpkin into pumpkin soup which will do me for lunch for the next 3 days. I thought I might experiment with mixing in various spices and herbs. Just to vary the 'pumpkin soup for lunch AGAIN' theme. There are still several pumpkins staring at me from the worktop as I write this. I am going to have to research pumpkin recipes because there's only so much soup I can cope with before my oesophagus starts rebelling.
And then there are the pumpkin seeds. I love pumpkin seeds. I love all dried seeds. And nuts. I am the only person in the Manor who likes dried seeds apart from the chickens. I think that somewhere in my genetic makeup, there beats the heart of a Neolithic nut 'n' seed gatherer. So I scooped the seeds from the centre of the pumpkin and given that it was the smallest of the pumpkins (only as big as my head), there was a surprising amount of seeds. A whole baking sheet's worth.
As I was scooping, I discovered the one thing in the world that has more slime than a slug. And that would be a pumpkin seed. I once picked up a slug with my bare hands. Only once mind. I was wiping slug slime off my fingers for ages. It was disgusting, and I'm not the most squeamish of people, I can tell you. But slugs are nothing in the slime stakes when compared with a handful of pumpkin seeds. I consulted Hugh F-W vis a vis the preparation of dried pumpkin seeds. (I did try one in its raw, slimey, nude state - it wasn't pleasant, I wouldn't recommend it). Hugh said to wash off the seeds, dry them, spread them on a baking sheet, sprinkle with a smidge of salt and bake at Gas 6 for a few minutes.
I washed the seeds thinking it would remove the slime. It didn't. I tried to dry the seeds using kitchen roll, thinking it would remove the slime. It didn't. There ensued a lot of faffing as I tried to peel the slime-covered pumpkin seeds from the now slime-covered kitchen roll. I thought, is this what my life has come to? So I slung the seeds onto the tray, popped them in the oven, crossed my fingers and hoped for the best.
After five minutes, things were popping. And cracking. I checked the seeds. They were drying. And popping and cracking. I left them to roast for as long as I dared (about 15 minutes) least one should fling itself into the gas flames and set fire to the cooker and ultimately the kitchen, then I shook them off the tray into a bowl, waited a few minutes until they had cooled, then tried some.
They were delicious! And they were still delicious this morning when I had some on my Bran Flakes along with some flaked almonds and sultanas.
And the best thing is that they are ALL MINE!!! No one else will eat them. For I am the lone Neolithic Nut 'n' Seed Gatherer here at the Manor. Aside from the chickens.
Showing posts with label seeds. Show all posts
Showing posts with label seeds. Show all posts
Tuesday, 20 October 2009
Wednesday, 18 March 2009
Advice and how to ignore it
Yesterday I went to the allotment and started digging at 8 a.m. At 10 a.m after soaking their roots, I planted the two cheapo grape vines, carefully as per instructions, which involved banging two scaffold poles a foot deep into the ground. Then I did some more digging. At 11.30 I got another blister to add to the two I got over the weekend and my digging down foot started to hurt a bit so I stopped digging and paced out the plot, marking out my three main planting areas with a mottley collection of canes and scraps of wood. (It's all precision and technicalities at Plot 87). Then I did some more digging.
At 12.15, the old geezer from the plot across the way from ours arrived and we had a blokey conversation about soft fruit and rhubarb, onions and potatoes. And the lack of toilet facilities at the allotment (although Old Geezer said he'd got a 'toilet arrangement' in his shed which ran underground into his plot, and really after that I thought there was way too much information, fascinating though it was). I mentioned that I'd ordered 3 new crowns of rhubarb from a well-known seed company and, 4 weeks on, they STILL hadn't arrived. At 1 p.m the old geezer reappeared with a crown of rhubarb from his second plot at the top end of the allotment.
'Ere you are!' he said, waving the crown at me. 'Plant that. Don't know if it'll survive. It might. It might not.'
I agreed with his gardening philosophy, thanked him for his kind donation and planted Rhubarb Two next to Rhubarb One. I sorted out my maincrop raspberry bed and made a note in my gardening diary to get some more canes to replace those that hadn't taken the previous year. (Yes, okay, I admit I have a gardening diary. Problem????) Then I checked the compost bin for dead rats and horses head but all I found was a slow-worm which was nice.
At 1.30, my body was screeching 'Go home! Now!' So I walked the mile and half home wearing my red fleece and carrying the last of the leeks. It was a very warm walk. Once home, I thought, shower first, then a spot of lunch. So I had a shower and as I was getting out, the phone rang.
Now, I knew exactly who it was on the end of that phone call. I just knew.
'Hello!' trilled Vera, from France.
'Would you like to know EXACTLY what I'm doing at this precise moment in time?' I said
'What?' said Vera.
'I am crouching, commando-style, on the landing, dripping wet with no clothes on because I've just got out of the shower,' I said. 'I can't stand up because the phone is by the landing window and I don't want to give the neighbours an eyeful.'
Vera laughed. Extensively. I don't know why, because from where I was crouching in my damp puddle on the carpet, the situation wasn't very amusing at all. I didn't like to mention that the cats were both staring at me as if to say 'When you've quite finished larking about, we need feeding...NOW!'
'I'll call back,' she said. Which she did.
After chatting to Vera about various issues to do with the technicalities of growing veg, I went to write my blog. And then, I don't know why, I had the urge to go outside because I felt SOMETHING HAD HAPPENED. And there, in the middle of the very raised bed I had just been blogging about, was Mrs Miggins.
'How did you get in there?' I said, because I couldn't see any gaps in the netting or evidence of scissors, pliers or digging equipment.
'I have no idea,' said Miggins, 'but I've had a good dig about in your freshly planted rows of seeds and I'd quite like to get out now please.'
And what I'd like to say, Vera, is that you can read all the books and magazines and listen to all the advice in the world about planting and growing seeds, but at the end of the day none of them take into account random acts of God (or in my case, chickens) and you might just as well fling things in regardless and hope for the best. That's what the Old Geezer does. And it seems to work for him.
At 12.15, the old geezer from the plot across the way from ours arrived and we had a blokey conversation about soft fruit and rhubarb, onions and potatoes. And the lack of toilet facilities at the allotment (although Old Geezer said he'd got a 'toilet arrangement' in his shed which ran underground into his plot, and really after that I thought there was way too much information, fascinating though it was). I mentioned that I'd ordered 3 new crowns of rhubarb from a well-known seed company and, 4 weeks on, they STILL hadn't arrived. At 1 p.m the old geezer reappeared with a crown of rhubarb from his second plot at the top end of the allotment.
'Ere you are!' he said, waving the crown at me. 'Plant that. Don't know if it'll survive. It might. It might not.'
I agreed with his gardening philosophy, thanked him for his kind donation and planted Rhubarb Two next to Rhubarb One. I sorted out my maincrop raspberry bed and made a note in my gardening diary to get some more canes to replace those that hadn't taken the previous year. (Yes, okay, I admit I have a gardening diary. Problem????) Then I checked the compost bin for dead rats and horses head but all I found was a slow-worm which was nice.
At 1.30, my body was screeching 'Go home! Now!' So I walked the mile and half home wearing my red fleece and carrying the last of the leeks. It was a very warm walk. Once home, I thought, shower first, then a spot of lunch. So I had a shower and as I was getting out, the phone rang.
Now, I knew exactly who it was on the end of that phone call. I just knew.
'Hello!' trilled Vera, from France.
'Would you like to know EXACTLY what I'm doing at this precise moment in time?' I said
'What?' said Vera.
'I am crouching, commando-style, on the landing, dripping wet with no clothes on because I've just got out of the shower,' I said. 'I can't stand up because the phone is by the landing window and I don't want to give the neighbours an eyeful.'
Vera laughed. Extensively. I don't know why, because from where I was crouching in my damp puddle on the carpet, the situation wasn't very amusing at all. I didn't like to mention that the cats were both staring at me as if to say 'When you've quite finished larking about, we need feeding...NOW!'
'I'll call back,' she said. Which she did.
After chatting to Vera about various issues to do with the technicalities of growing veg, I went to write my blog. And then, I don't know why, I had the urge to go outside because I felt SOMETHING HAD HAPPENED. And there, in the middle of the very raised bed I had just been blogging about, was Mrs Miggins.
'How did you get in there?' I said, because I couldn't see any gaps in the netting or evidence of scissors, pliers or digging equipment.
'I have no idea,' said Miggins, 'but I've had a good dig about in your freshly planted rows of seeds and I'd quite like to get out now please.'
And what I'd like to say, Vera, is that you can read all the books and magazines and listen to all the advice in the world about planting and growing seeds, but at the end of the day none of them take into account random acts of God (or in my case, chickens) and you might just as well fling things in regardless and hope for the best. That's what the Old Geezer does. And it seems to work for him.
Tuesday, 17 March 2009
How to plant a raised bed...or not, as the case may be...
Here are the instructions on how to plant a new raised bed. You will need:
1) seeds appropriate for the time of year (in this case carrots, radish and lettuce
2) a digging fork
3) a trowel
4) a seed labels and a pencil
5) a bucket load of determination
6) another bucket load of patience
You WILL NOT need:
1) four hens
...but they will help anyway...
METHOD:
1) Remove one side of netting from cover on raised bed, remembering to memorise the configuration of rocks and tent pegs initiated by husband so they can be reinstated after planting in exactly the same position
2) Stand back as hens barge past you under the netting and onto the raised bed
3) Standing outside raised bed, use digging fork to agitate soil into some semblance of 'fine tilth' ready to receive seed - take care not to impale hens on fork tines as they wrestle for upturned worms and other assorted bugs
4)Remove hens from beneath netting
5) Repeat step 4. Several times.
6) Kneel down, arms akimbo, to shield entrance to raised bed from further chicken attack. Discover you've knelt in dollop of chicken poo.
7) Climb inside raised bed and close net curtain
8)Remove chicken that has crept in behind you without you noticing
9) Say 'Aha!' in loud and triumphant voice that the chickens are now outside the raised bed net and you are under the raised bed net.
10) Say 'Oh,' when you realise all your seeds for planting are also outside the raised bed net with the chickens
11) Retrieve seeds quickly.
12) Remove chicken from under netting. (This is usually the quickest, most persistent one. 'That'll be me!' says Mrs Miggins.)
13) Go into house and find apple as distraction for chickens. Cut apple into quarters. Try to put wellies back on feet using only one hand whilst holding four quarters of apple without dropping them
14) FLING apple as far away from raised bed as possible. Chickens will be unable to resist and race after the apple. You now have a very short time in which to get those seeds in the ground
15) Dash back under netting cover, make shallow seed drills, wrestle seed from packets, think 'Oh bother,' because your plant labels and pencil are still in the greenhouse, but no time to go and get them so you just grab bits of stray stick and pebbles, anything, to mark the ends of the rows you are planting
16) Remove chicken from raised bed, the one who crept in without you noticing and is now eating your radish seed straight from the packet. ('That'll be me again! says Miggins. 'Well, I just hope you don't start growing radish in your oviduct,' I say, 'because then we'll be in trouble.')
17) Cover over seed, doesn't matter how, because now you are really past caring
18) Back out of raised bed trying not to kneel in more chicken poo and replace net cover, remembering where those carefully positioned rocks and tent pegs go
19) Open up net cover to retrieve chicken trapped inside before they dig up your carefully (!) sown seed
20) Go indoors and have a cup of tea and flapjack
It's easy, really.
1) seeds appropriate for the time of year (in this case carrots, radish and lettuce
2) a digging fork
3) a trowel
4) a seed labels and a pencil
5) a bucket load of determination
6) another bucket load of patience
You WILL NOT need:
1) four hens
...but they will help anyway...
METHOD:
1) Remove one side of netting from cover on raised bed, remembering to memorise the configuration of rocks and tent pegs initiated by husband so they can be reinstated after planting in exactly the same position
2) Stand back as hens barge past you under the netting and onto the raised bed
3) Standing outside raised bed, use digging fork to agitate soil into some semblance of 'fine tilth' ready to receive seed - take care not to impale hens on fork tines as they wrestle for upturned worms and other assorted bugs
4)Remove hens from beneath netting
5) Repeat step 4. Several times.
6) Kneel down, arms akimbo, to shield entrance to raised bed from further chicken attack. Discover you've knelt in dollop of chicken poo.
7) Climb inside raised bed and close net curtain
8)Remove chicken that has crept in behind you without you noticing
9) Say 'Aha!' in loud and triumphant voice that the chickens are now outside the raised bed net and you are under the raised bed net.
10) Say 'Oh,' when you realise all your seeds for planting are also outside the raised bed net with the chickens
11) Retrieve seeds quickly.
12) Remove chicken from under netting. (This is usually the quickest, most persistent one. 'That'll be me!' says Mrs Miggins.)
13) Go into house and find apple as distraction for chickens. Cut apple into quarters. Try to put wellies back on feet using only one hand whilst holding four quarters of apple without dropping them
14) FLING apple as far away from raised bed as possible. Chickens will be unable to resist and race after the apple. You now have a very short time in which to get those seeds in the ground
15) Dash back under netting cover, make shallow seed drills, wrestle seed from packets, think 'Oh bother,' because your plant labels and pencil are still in the greenhouse, but no time to go and get them so you just grab bits of stray stick and pebbles, anything, to mark the ends of the rows you are planting
16) Remove chicken from raised bed, the one who crept in without you noticing and is now eating your radish seed straight from the packet. ('That'll be me again! says Miggins. 'Well, I just hope you don't start growing radish in your oviduct,' I say, 'because then we'll be in trouble.')
17) Cover over seed, doesn't matter how, because now you are really past caring
18) Back out of raised bed trying not to kneel in more chicken poo and replace net cover, remembering where those carefully positioned rocks and tent pegs go
19) Open up net cover to retrieve chicken trapped inside before they dig up your carefully (!) sown seed
20) Go indoors and have a cup of tea and flapjack
It's easy, really.
Monday, 2 March 2009
A spring in my step
Or rather, THE spring in my step. Spring as in the long awaited season which is well on its way. It's been a busy day today, so here is the news...
First of all, what's this? A modern art installation maybe?
I washed out many pots this morning. And when I say 'many', then 'many' I mean. There was a minor contretemps with one of those big, fat, hairy-legged, 'I-can-bench-push-the-weight-of-a-hippo' spiders where I screamed a bit and he/she/it made a run for it TOWARDS me, and then AWAY from me when I did a bit more screaming but other than that the pot cleaning went well.
And then, I spent a very pleasant afternoon in a sunny greenhouse, singing along to my pink radio, sowing the first seeds of 2009. I had to do a considerable amount of planning first to decide what to put in today because this year I'm determined to get to grips with successional sowing in order to avoid the problems of the last couple of years when we've flung everything in in one fell swoop and found ourselves with a glut come harvest time.
'Another parsnip with your parsnip, dear?'
'Why yes, that would be delightful. Maybe I could have a parsnip or two on the side?'
'Of course. And for pudding?'
'Why, parsnip of course. Unless we've any courgette left?'
'No. Only parsnip, I fear.'
'So did I.'
So today I have planted pointy cabbage, red cabbage, cauliflower, leek, pepper, jalapeno pepper (so Andy can re-create his Pizza Express Mount Etna moment in the privacy of our own home), cherry tomatoes, stripey tomatoes, aubergine, mixed salad leaves, peas, runner beans and a big tray of basil so I can have a go at making pesto. And on the flower front I planted some sweet peas but only because I went a bit overboard with my home-crafted root trainers.
The hens, meanwhile, continued to dig over our new raised bed. Not that it needed digging over.
'Quick! Get down! She's seen us!' hissed Mrs Miggins.
'She won't see me,' said the cunning Mrs Poo. 'Not with my head buried in the ground.'
'Ah,' said Mrs Pumphrey, 'the old emu trick.'
Once the seeds were watered and the ones that needed putting in the propagator were propagated, I went indoors to cook dinner and make some scones.
We had parsnip for dinner. We had other stuff as well, like chicken and roast potatoes (the remaining few of our crop from last year) broccoli and peas, but I thought you'd like to see how big our parsnips got last season.
What's that song? 'Long ones, short ones, some as big as your head...'
'That's a coconut,' said Mrs Slocombe.
'No. It's definitely a parsnip,' I said.
And that was my day. And it was FAB!!
First of all, what's this? A modern art installation maybe? 
Or an elaborate bee-hive for enormous bees?
No, of course not! It's loo rolls stuck together with masking tape. Otherwise known as 'Denise's Home-crafted Root Trainers for Beans, Peas and Sweetcorn.' It's recycling in its purest form - cheap, useful AND biodegradable. However, if someone from the Tate Modern is reading this and wants to make me an offer, well, then my 'art' can be whatever you want it to be. And if a giant bee is reading this and thinking, 'Hmmm, nice penthouse,' then I've clearly inhaled some hallucinogenic spores in the greenhouse today...
I washed out many pots this morning. And when I say 'many', then 'many' I mean. There was a minor contretemps with one of those big, fat, hairy-legged, 'I-can-bench-push-the-weight-of-a-hippo' spiders where I screamed a bit and he/she/it made a run for it TOWARDS me, and then AWAY from me when I did a bit more screaming but other than that the pot cleaning went well.And then, I spent a very pleasant afternoon in a sunny greenhouse, singing along to my pink radio, sowing the first seeds of 2009. I had to do a considerable amount of planning first to decide what to put in today because this year I'm determined to get to grips with successional sowing in order to avoid the problems of the last couple of years when we've flung everything in in one fell swoop and found ourselves with a glut come harvest time.
'Another parsnip with your parsnip, dear?'
'Why yes, that would be delightful. Maybe I could have a parsnip or two on the side?'
'Of course. And for pudding?'
'Why, parsnip of course. Unless we've any courgette left?'
'No. Only parsnip, I fear.'
'So did I.'
So today I have planted pointy cabbage, red cabbage, cauliflower, leek, pepper, jalapeno pepper (so Andy can re-create his Pizza Express Mount Etna moment in the privacy of our own home), cherry tomatoes, stripey tomatoes, aubergine, mixed salad leaves, peas, runner beans and a big tray of basil so I can have a go at making pesto. And on the flower front I planted some sweet peas but only because I went a bit overboard with my home-crafted root trainers.
The hens, meanwhile, continued to dig over our new raised bed. Not that it needed digging over.
'Quick! Get down! She's seen us!' hissed Mrs Miggins.'She won't see me,' said the cunning Mrs Poo. 'Not with my head buried in the ground.'
'Ah,' said Mrs Pumphrey, 'the old emu trick.'
Once the seeds were watered and the ones that needed putting in the propagator were propagated, I went indoors to cook dinner and make some scones.
We had parsnip for dinner. We had other stuff as well, like chicken and roast potatoes (the remaining few of our crop from last year) broccoli and peas, but I thought you'd like to see how big our parsnips got last season.What's that song? 'Long ones, short ones, some as big as your head...'
'That's a coconut,' said Mrs Slocombe.
'No. It's definitely a parsnip,' I said.
And that was my day. And it was FAB!!Friday, 27 February 2009
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?
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?
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