A Glass of Shiraz Mangetout Anyone?

‘Why are your peas looking sick?’ asks Robin whilst he watches me water the plot. He sits there perched on top of the brassica netted frame as if he is directing all operations whilst secretly watching and listening for grubs.

‘I don’t know. It must be the hot weather, but I haven’t planted them down there before and Freddie Fox used that area as his private toilet last year.

‘But what has grown is a funny colour’ Robin says eyeing up the odd purple pod.

‘They are mangetout, not peas, and supposed to be purple. They are called Shiraz’ I reply.

“Trust you to pick an alcoholic veg’ Robin says as he pops down to wrestle with a small worm. The tug of war is short, and Robin soon flies off with his wriggling prize.

I look at the miserable plants clinging on for their last rights against the twigs they were supposed cover. I give them some water but there is no reaction.

Everything else is blooming and although some vegetables have come early, others are quickly catching up and if the slugs and snails can keep themselves to themselves everything should be ok.

I turn my attention to the two grape vines on the top section. There were a gift along with two others from Caroline, a good friend of Annie’s who live in deepest Kent. She still has six vines and I wondered if she had a drinking problem or secretly ran a pub.

The vines on the top took straight away, were cut back and everything looked well. They flowered and have little bunches of grapes but are still subdued and probably wondering where their mates are and what the are doing in London. Their mates I planted in my reclaimed bank and they didn’t take kindly to the move but now are in their element with shoots all over and big developing bunches of grapes. Perhaps the others need to live on the bank too?

The challenge is that until the grapes develop, I don’t know which is white, which is red, and that will teach me for losing the labels on transfer. I wonder if the mangetout Shiraz up top is jealous and it is a Shiraz below on the bank that is stealing the show?

The sunflowers turn their heads, watching and waiting to be given a drink. Now they don’t need any help and pop up in spring, get moved into position and only require a tall cane to stand proud and shine all summer. Mind you Sidney and his gang of squirrels fight the bees and birds for the seed heads as soon as they start to turn. It’s amusing to watch them scurrying up the stork and biting off the heads of the flowers, watching them drop to the ground. They start back down, pick up the flower head, and then they are off the hide it somewhere they will probably soon forget. They sow seeds on their journey and it’s rather funny to see them running away down the path with a flower head bigger than them and often still with a bee after the last drink.

Lottie hates squirrels so she is very annoyed I haven’t put trip wires around the sunflowers and mined the area under them. She just barks at them which probably encourages them to come back, knowing she is tied up and can’t chase them.

Back to today’s watering.

The other new plant this year is the kiwi vine. It’s not mine but my neighbour’s whose plot I am looking after whilst she is self-isolating with her shielded husband. The vine looks great as it straggles the arbor but has done little until this year. Happily, it’s  it had masses of little delicate buttercup style flowers all over. Apparently it has never flowered before and maybe it is going to give me a special reward of fruit this year.

Alas there doesn’t appear to be any fruit setting and not being a kiwi expert or having grown it before, I don’t know what the baby fruit should look like at this stage. I’ve searched the internet and got lots of advice on everything except what I should be looking for. Robin even told me off, thinking I was looking at a bird’s nest. I bet birds around here have never seen a kiwi fruit, let alone flower.

Back to the more traditional watering, the Patti pans and courgettes. Now if this was wine not water, they would be permanently drunk with the amount they consume. I wonder if they’d like some Shiraz?

The benefits of Early Morning Watering at the Plot

‘Why are we going out so early?’ Lottie asks.

‘Got to water the allotments, it’s going to be very hot today’ I reply as I unlock the gate to the upper plots.

‘Why are so many people here when they should be in bed?’ my faithful whippet Lottie asks as she starts to count the people already there, watering their plots.

‘It may be only 7am but some have already been and gone’ I say looking around and counting the plot holders dotted all around busy, watering in the cool morning air.

We stop and chat to my Vice Chair who is off later on to attend to the Canary Wharf allotment at the Crossrail station. Yesterday I got my diary all mixed up went to Canary Wharf to help out and rang her to ask where she was to be told, ’It’s tomorrow not today.’

I can’t make today so I’ll leave it to her and the volunteers.

As I leave the plots, more folk are turning up and I speak with Alan who is one of our oldest plot holders and well into his 80s. ‘Shouldn’t you be home and in bed?’ I ask.

‘I will be when I’ve watered my plot’ he replies.

Lottie and I walk down to the lower plots passing the farm which is just wakening up. In the field with the goats are three foxes lying smack in the middle of the field sunbathing whilst the goats occupy the edges watching them. It may look dangerous for the goats but I am sure they can deal with Freddie and his pack, and anyway they are only there to catch the early sun and will soon be off.

When we get to the lower allotments, we find we have it to ourselves.

‘Are we staying long?’ asks Lottie.

‘Just long enough to water and get tonight’s salad and some flowers’ I reply tying her to her bench and fetching her pillows from the shed.

I turn to see another of Freddie’s scrawny thin furred foxes quickly wake from his slumbers at the back of the plot and scurry off away from us.

Watering this time of day is different to watering last thing at night or during the day. You can hear the plants suck in the water, slash it all over and ready themselves for another baking day. They say a good breakfast sets one up for the day, and perhaps the same applies to plants too.

As soon as the salad is watered the snails climb to the top to see what is going on. It’s strange they only live in the one lettuce row although these are surrounded by rocket, basil, salad bowl and lorra rosso lettuce. It’s great, as they surface with their little houses on their backs I can pick them out and send them on a sky diving expedition over to the rough patch behind number nine. It’s only fair to move them on as they probably have a large mortgage on that house. The removal follows the 20 metre safe distance rules for snails and slugs and I doubt that they will be able traverse the terrain back here.

The patti pans and yellow courgettes and some tomatoes are picked, and lettuce cut and all put into there respective yogurt tubs for taking home and surprise my wife Annie.

I cut some sweet peas and tie them into a small bouquet. Sweet peas just love to be cut and every day the same number are ready waiting to be taken home. Finally, I cut some sunflowers.

‘We off now?’ asks Lottie jumping down off her pillows and looking impatiently at me.

A few minutes later we are leaving just as some other plot holders are starting to arrive to do their watering.

‘I wondered where you were?’ greets us as we arrive home to Annie my wife, who has obviously just got up and was trying hard to focus on us and the daylight surrounding us. Lottie gives her a warm lick and looks towards her bowl to try and kid her that she hasn’t had any breakfast. I present a huge bag of goodies and a large bouquet of sunflowers.

‘They for me?’ asks Annie smiling and giving me a kiss on the cheek and a hug.

‘I knew there was a good reason for watering early in the morning,’ I say to Lottie quietly over Annie’s shoulder. She turns, realising there is no second breakfast, and goes to find somewhere among her many beds to have a morning nap.

Companions on the Plot

‘If I didn’t come to keep you company at the allotment, who would you like to be here with you?’ asks my allotment whippet companion Lottie.’

‘I am very happy that you come to watch over me’ I replied a bit sarcastically.

‘It better not be Sidney and his gang.’ thinking about that Mexican stand-off she had with him only yesterday when he climbed on the tree over her head and taunted her on her bench.

‘Now why would I have a squirrel as a friend?’ I realise that this is either a fishing expedition whereby Lottie makes me realise just how loyal a companion she is, or it’s one of her I am bored I’ll ask some silly questions mood.

‘I don’t mind it if you want to keep chickens,’ she says with those doleful whippet eyes which either says she’s hungry and would love some chicken, or it’s time to go home.

I sit back and my mind wanders to chickens on the allotment. 

Some would like to keep chickens which would give you eggs, maybe dinner and provide rich fertilizer. But we would have to build Fort Knox to keep Freddie Fox and his gang out. I remember when the farm was putting up extra fencing. I asked why and was told that unless it was well over a couple of meters high the sly old things would climb up and over like it were and assault course set to keep them fit. Then the fence must be extended underground to stop their expert tunnelling skills.

In fact the crows are more problems to the farm as far as the chickens are concerned and the phrase ‘headless chicken’ comes to mind.

I look at the farm’s ducks and geese, all of which have to be locked up every night and let out in the morning and the same with the chickens and turkeys and well, I can buy eggs fairy easily, I can buy chicken manure, and I don’t fancy killing them let alone plucking my dinner.

‘Sorry Lottie, chickens aren’t allowed on the allotments’ I tell her.

‘Ok no chickens but why is that Freddie fox always here?’ asks Lottie as she turns down on her pillows on the bench and flops into a new more comfortable position.

Freddie could keep anyone company as he is a loner and keeps himself to himself. At the slightest glimpse of a human, he’s off.

The problem with Freddie and his pack is that they have no toilet training whatsoever. They poo all over and even on the vegetables. However, we have a pact and they do keep the rats away and we leave them alone to police the allotment for rodents. Considering we have a farm next door the only rodent I have seen in some 6 years is Sidney Squirrel and the flying pigeons.

‘No, Freddie doesn’t like to make friends. The only company he likes is the pack.’

‘Well if we ignore pigeons and squirrels who we both don’t like, who’s left?’ asks Lottie.

‘There’s Robin,’ I respond quickly.

‘He doesn’t count. He lives here.’ Lottie says in a matter of fact way.

‘Well occasionally I find the odd frog or toad lurking under the squash leaves. I think they know they will get a daily wash and plenty of grubs, but I haven’t the faintest where they come from or live’ I offer.

‘I don’t count them. They aren’t very good for anything but to play with and to watch jumping all around when you disturb them.’ Lottie is clearly getting bored.

‘They are good for the plot and don’t make any noise until after dusk so are never heard by the plot holders.’

‘I can’t remember them saying anything.’ Lottie cleans her face with her paw and settles down to have another nap.

‘A badger wouldn’t survive on the Isle of Dogs here in the East End of London.’ I say.

‘A badger? No don’t know them’ responds Lottie.

I think about it and realise that although we may have the ideal habitat in the Farm’s parkland they would have to swim across the Thames or negotiate Canary Wharf and some very busy roads to get here. I think we will always be badger free.  

‘The one animal I would love to see here is a hedgehog’ I say, thinking about the good works they can do on the plot. ‘They tried to introduce them some years back but it failed.’

‘No way! They have fleas and spikes and I can’t play with them at all’ Lottie says.

‘I thought this was about me and my companionship’ I reply and Lottie starts to close her eyes and is now drifting away.

I would happily build a dedicated compost heap just for a hedgehog, leave some cat food out each evening and know he would devour those little critters even more efficiently than Robin and his flock. But alas it’s not to be.

Now talking about bees…

‘You know all this virus stuff has to make you think about others and companionship. And I am not getting any younger you know.’ Lottie mutters as she closes her eyes and drops off.

I rise from the bench, pick up my watering can and fill it from the trough. If I didn’t have Lottie with me at the allotment I would go mad having weird conversations with other animals and birds, and that just wouldn’t do, now would it?    

Discussions with Freddie Fox

Today I catch Freddie Fox lying sunbathing on the plot. At first, he becomes aware of someone and potential danger. He sits up tries to out stare me. He then sees Lottie, my faithful whippet, besides me and the two dogs momentarily freeze. Who will blink first?

Lottie, suddenly has had enough of this trespasser and barks out, ‘Don’t mess with me and leave now!’  

Freddie leaps up and duly scurries off, briefly casting a glance over his shoulder and aware he has four eyes following him as he weaves across the plots and disappears behind some sheds at the far side. Lottie gets the pat she deserves and jumps appreciatively onto her bench for a rest.

‘How would i have coped without you?’ i ask mockingly.

‘Don’t mention it. It’s our plot not his.’ Lottie replies, ‘and can i have a treat now please?’ 

Foxes are a fixture at the allotments and only tend to see them early in the morning especially if its sunny and they want a quick warm-up. Rarely do you see them as a pack unless there are cubs and they are teaching them how to behave of the plots. It’s as if they can only go out as single foxes and they probably either draw lots or take it in turns to forage. They are far more scared of us than we of them and disappear at the slightest disturbance or sight of plot holders.

Freddie and his gang have an annoying habit of pooing everywhere. No point in leaving toilet paper or poo bags out as they do it on top of your best veg, on the path, where you have just sown your seeds, round your bench, no place is safe. Their diets are not always the best, so their poo is often, shall we say ‘loose’. I wish they could be plot trained.

Another annoying habit is the midnight walk. You rake your bed over, perhaps sow some seeds in it and the next morning it can look like a crime scene. Paw prints everywhere and never in straight lines! It’s as if they wanted to help and heel in the seeds and flatten the earth. I think they bring on the music and have a disco dance without the lights of course. When i ask Freddie if he did it he always says with a straight faced, ‘Not me guv,’ and waves his paw in the direction of some far-off lair of one of his relatives.

Then there is the redevelopment of your plot. You don’t get chance to see their plans before hand and i doubt they have any. They just start digging and excavating. The next day you are welcomed by a big hole and a mound of earth. Does the hole mean a den? Or, have they started, stopped and forgot to clear up and fill in the hole? They have more attempts than success and its hard to understand where they will start next. Yes, we have tried all the old wives’ recommendations, the fox deterrents but all fail. I didn’t realise that foxes can climb over fences 2 metres high and so our careful laying of large stones at the base of the fence was a fruitless exercise.

Freddie says its best to dig next to a shed as then he doesn’t have to worry about the roof and weather as he sleeps under your feet and can eavesdrop into your every shed move.

Some of the gang are not so clever and just tunnel anywhere and everywhere often creating sink holes. They never did watch those Second Wold War POW films and learn that you must shore up the tunnel otherwise it may just collapse. The other thing they would have learnt is to hide the entrance by removing the excavated soil. Mind you they don’t wear trousers to hide the soil in and disperse it quietly around the plot. They probably think we can use it on the plot!

 

I once asked Freddie why there was no stones or roots in their earth mounds. He just looked at me and said, ‘but i thought you didn’t want them so i got rid and just left fine soil for you.’ As he scurried off and my foot collapsed into the labyrinth of tunnelling beneath me, I shouted, ‘Thank you!’ 

He didn’t bother to turn around.

I suppose we often don’t appreciate that Freddie and his gang may look dangerous, may be disruptive, leave deposits everywhere but they do keep the vermin away. That’s apart from those with a grey furry tail. 

Now i must talk to Freddie about a squirrel cull.