What is it about men and power tools? My neighbour has just spent several hours getting covered in dust, finally emerging from the haze like a soldier from an Iraqi sandstorm. And what's more, he looked like he was enjoying himself! I mustn't complain, because the work really has to be done. His south-facing wall is a mass of holes where bees have tunnelled into the mortar, making the bricks unsafe and allowing damp in. It's just that I get fed up with taking the washing in and wandering around looking like Hannibal Lecter.
Of course, I didn't have to go out and garden through the sandstorm, but I had finally made up my mind to dig a patch for my potatoes, and if I didn't live my life by Carpe Diem I'd never get anything done at all.
It's a bit late for potato planting, but that's my husband, John's fault. Our garden is small and in our village there is no provision for allotments. I had put my name down for one in the local town, and a year later I finally got one. Joy was mine! That was, until my husband pointed out that it was a stupid idea. "What's the point of driving five miles to an allotment, using all that fuel? Not very eco-friendly, is it? Besides, you'll get the car dirty". I made a bit of a fuss, mostly because I knew he was right but didn't want to admit it. He stopped nagging but a couple of weeks later I was talking to his brother on the phone. "Oh, yes, your allotment." he said, and I could hear him sniggering on the other end of the line. "John says it's going to cost him £2000 a year and a new car..."
Needless to say I gave in and reluctantly passed my precious allotment onto someone else. John was a magnanimous victor - he didn't crow at all. "I'm going to ask someone local about using some of their land" he said. Two months later I still had no plot and the potatoes on my dining room windowsill looked as if they had given up.
And so it was that this morning I fought through a mortary blizzard to cut down shrubs, move beloved flowers and dig for Worcestershire - all so that I could plant those feeble tubers and get my windowsill back.
