Willow Weavers We

Sunday morning. Having being partially scuppered by the rain on Saturday, Chief Willow Worker, Andy, steps into the sunshine and takes up his weapon. Which, as you can see, is as tall as a house. Or a bunch of willow. (Also, please remember that Malarkey Manors garden is starting a complete overhaul. That's why it looks like a building site. That's our excuse anyway.) Deputy Willow Worker, Denise, is sent up the wibbly wobbly ladder (which is probably where she belongs). The ladder affords her a jolly good view into the neighbouring gardens. Deputy WW tries not to look too conspicuous. Note that on Saturday Chief WW Andy had prepared the site by measuring out and pegging down weed suppressing membrane and wheedling some very deep willow-width holes into the ground via a metal pole and a sledgehammer. This activity rendered him red of face and sore of shoulder. You can't go around just shoving willow into the ground you know. Not if you want it to grow. Preparations are precise and thorough. The uprights are in place, temporarily tied with string. This allows for tweaking and twanging. In the accompanying instructional DVD, willow workers are encouraged to take regular 'steps back' in order to assess symmetry, angles and curves. This concept works well in the early stages of 'let's do it properly' and less so in the latter stages of 'that'll do, it'll be covered in greenery in the summer, who's going to notice if uprights 3 and 4 are every so slightly wonky anyway?' Deputy WW still clinging to top of wibbly wobbly ladder. Sorry about the hair. When one is clinging to a wibbly wobbly ladder, the only reason one lets go is to tie willow to willow at the correct angle without kinking it (for kinking means death to willow), and not to faff about with one's hair because Chief WW insists on taking a photo because Deputy WW apparently looks 'cute.' Also. being up the ladder puts Deputy WW in vague flight path of Malarkey Manor bees flying southwards to local park. One has to cling onto ladder when being dinged in the back of the head by a bee on a mission.

Whilst Deputy WW makes quick foray to shop to get cat food before cats start gnawing off their own legs, Chief WW sets to work weaving base of arch. Deputy WW is allowed to weave other side on her return. Weaving involves making more deep holes, knowing your fronts from your backs, your ins from your outs, and no shaking it all about because of the aforementioned death-to-willow kinking. If your willow is a tad stiff, and needs coaxing to take on a more gentle arc, then you rub your hand up and down the shaft with long, firm strokes in order to 'soften the fibres' and make them more pliable. This looks and sounds rude. It also roughs up your hands - wear gloves. But doesn't the end result look pretty??

Chief WW ascends ladder to show he isn't scared of heights either. Note that temporary (bright orange) string has been replaced with light and heat resistant (brown) rubber tubing ties which grip the willow together whilst it grafts onto itself and expands as the willow grows in girth. Chief WW is cutting back the excess length on the uprights in case they should take out the eye of a passing pigeon. We have several off-cuts. All those over 38 cms in length are going to be planted at the allotment in a willow bed so we can (hopefully) grown our own supplies from the cuttings.Chief WW goes 'TA-DAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!' The living willow arch is complete! By mid-summer it should be resplendent in willow greenery, a cool oasis from the scorching English sun.

We think we did a darn good job. What a fabulous way to spend a Sunday. Can we build another one? Eh? Eh? Cor, I should think so!!And finally, Mrs Pumphrey takes a promenade through the new living arch. She says, 'For beginners, they did a reasonable job. Next time, a little more attention to detail and a little less faffing about up ladders and peurile giggling over the Carry On -type innuendoes, please... B+, big tick, silver star.

Allotment- tea-ing

We spent a lot of time at the allotment this weekend. And I mean 'a lot.' Well, the weather was too good to miss out on, so off we trotted first thing Saturday morning to begin some earnest gardening. And for the first time in 4 and a half years, we took the camping stove with us, some tea bags and mugs, and a saucepan and a little flask of milk, and we stopped for elevenses and had a proper cup of tea.

Now usually, if we are having a long allotment stint, Andy takes a flask of tea or coffee and I take a large bottle of water. I refuse to drink tea from flasks because I think it tastes rank and I like tea and if I am going to drink it I want it made properly i.e fresh, with proper milk and preferably in a teapot but a cup 'n' spoon will do provided the milk goes in first. The allotment site is woefully short of fresh tea-making facilities i.e in the form of a clubhouse. It is also short on loos - actually, it has no loos - so I am always wary about drinking too much up there in case I get caught short for a tiddle.

But then we pay a peanuts rent each year, so one can't expect posh facilities, I suppose.

Anyway, we camped. And it was great! Andy managed not to set fire to/ explode the polytunnel with the butane cannister, and we had a nice cuppa and some biscuits to break up the morning stint. But we did have to nip home to have a spot of lunch and a tiddle before returning for round two in the afternoon.

'What I need,' I said,' is one of those lady toilet things. I think they are called 'She-wees'. And then I can nip into the polytunnel, pretend I am examining some seedlings, avail myself of the she-wee and I won't have to nip home when Nature calls.'
'Yes,' said Andy. 'And we can bring a picnic.'

Andy is very keen to picnic at the allotment.

Despite a whole day allotmenteering on Saturday, we went back on Sunday afternoon and did another stint. And as a result, Plot 87 is looking absolutely fabulous! We are ON TOP OF THINGS this year because we have a PROPER PLAN! HURRAH!!!

Sunday morning was spent making decisions about the back garden. What with the chickens being once more at large, because of the dismantlement of Cluckinghen Palace, we needed a GRAND PLAN to bring greenery to the back garden, because we sure as heck aren't going to see grass there again.

So the plan is...

....MANY HERBS and a WILLOW ARCH!

Yes, dear reader, we are heading towards the next addition to the Much Malarkey Manor skills base which is to build living structures from willow. In fact, I've just ordered the kit. Just now. Five minutes ago. It comes with a free DVD for us willow structure virgins, and will be arriving by Friday, or early next week. It will go up near the back of the garden.

I said to the man, 'Will chickens have a go at it?'
And he said, 'I doubt it. They can never work out how to use the DVD player.'

Ahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaa!!!

He didn't really say that because he didn't rise to the bait of my willow versus chicken silliness. He said rabbits would eat it, but thought chickens would leave it alone. They'd better or I shall be weaving some chicken-sized willow baskets pretty darned quick, I can tell you.

I have planned an extensive herb garden, following in detail the information in Jekka McVicar's Complete Herb Book. I have considered pots versus in the ground, hardy versus annual, culinary versus aroma and have a definitive list of 25 to start off with including five or six I can put at the allotment in the semi-shaded bit by the polytunnel. The herb garden project will also involve me attempting some elementary building-with-bricks-type skills but you know me, I'll give anything like that a try. Can't be more complicated than Lego, surely?

And I have purchased some herbs and done some preliminary chicken tempting with them. The only one they showed a mild interest in was angelica, and that's only because I think it was big 'n' leafy-like; they both spat out the bit of leaf they pecked off, so fingers crossed the back garden will eventually return to some greeniness.

If the willow arch building goes well in the back garden, we are going to have a go at building a willow garden room at the allotment. A living willow garden room, eh? Now that WILL require the use of a tea-pot!

Exit stage right, pursued by a bee...

As you can see from the picture on the right we have had visitor number 1 to our embryonic bee garden. It was a big fat bumble bee which very obligingly flew by the willow tree this morning as we were heading out the front door. It stopped and posed like a true celebrity as Andy and I leapt around with our mobile phones taking pictures.
'Look!' I squealed. 'A bee on our bee friendly tree!'
'Yes,' said Andy. He didn't sound that excited but I suppose when you've spent your life living with a bee in your ear, the novelty of bees can wear a bit thin.
'We've provided a bee with its breakfast!' I squealed.
'I'd have preferred a couple of sausages and a fried egg,' said the bee.
'How exciting is that!' I squeal again (you get the idea now that I'm v.excited by this sudden bee activity.)
'Because I've been hibernating all winter and to be honest, a bit of willow pollen is hardly going to fill the gap, is it?' said the bee.
'I need to get the other plants in,' I said to Andy. 'Start building up the borders.'
'So if you're going to be providing a new B & B service for us bees,' said the bee, 'can I suggest you have a look at your menu? Did you notice the cunning word play on the letter 'b', by the way?'
'I'll plant the lavender and foxgloves tomorrow,' I say.
'Sod lavender and foxgloves,' said the bee. 'Listen will you? Crumpets, that's what we want. Or muffins. Something nice and stodgy to fuel us up after the winter. Or toast. Toast is good. But no Marmite.'
'And I'll get the lupin and hollyhock seeds in,' I continue. 'I know it says on the packet not to plant them until April but I can bring on the seedlings in the 'conservatory, now I've cleared the decks and have got some inside growing space.'
'Or black pudding,' said the bee. 'Bees don't like black pudding. And if you're going to do a full English, make sure the bacon isn't too crispy and that you double up on the fried slice.'

I skip off down the path, happy with the bee pictures we've captured.

'Oi!' shouted the bee. 'I haven't finished with you yet. We haven't discussed tog ratings for the duvets or the morning paper service.'

'Did you hear something?' I asked.
'Only the bee in my ear,' said Andy.