Mirror bawl

It's the end of summer. Harvest time is meant to be upon us, church altars and school assembly halls should soon be groaning under the weight of tinned food from Tesco, some straggly looking onions and a pumpkin. Always a pumpkin.

I reflected yesterday on the photos I put up showing some of my, how can I say, less successful attempts? Despite my stubborness, am I really so bad a gardener that those disasters happened because of my innate inability? Perhaps the reality of a stressful job, and some monumental changes to life circumstances in the past two years have been the root cause. Or have I just not got the passion required to put my garden first in my life (who else has been told to 'make time' when they blatantly don't have any?)

The amateur gardeners I know have all had to chip away at the garden, celebrating mild successes, accepting failures resulting from an abysmal summer and the pressures of their own lives, child-filled or not. I thought back to the night I had my friends round potting seeds, and the sense of excitement at all the things they could grow, the potential for a feast. And the reality now.

Then, my friend Kate unexpectedly tweeted an innocent looking link to her great blog 'Curb your Consumerism' about Personal Best Strategies. And in it she very sweetly showed me just why I garden.

Do read, and for all of you who share my haplessness, in however small a measure, there is always a reward.

Cheers

Tom

Second coming

Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Which is why so many of us drink coffee for breakfast.  Nothing like a good drug to create the illusion that all is good in body and mind.

In the London rat race, I was a convert to the wonderful Monmouth coffee shop on the corner of Borough Market. I was back there recently, two years after my last appearance, resurrected in their ultra efficient queuing system. And they remembered me! Unheard of in London, I was thrilled.

But then I paused, and wondered, does that make me like the old drunk at the bar; pub and punter dependent on each other? Not valued but quietly mocked and pitied for my dependency?

Well, no more. I have porridge. All those oats and milk, I actually have long lasting energy in the morning.  Porridge is now a strange necessity; once you have it regularly you can't live a morning without it and energy wise kicks a croissant dans les noisettes.  However it doesn't look, sound or even taste inspiring on its own. It really is just mushy cardboard.

But. If you grow your own fruit then ha! you can get all creative on it's papery ass.

Earlier in spring I was chucking in the raspberries with abandon, all strong and intense. But as the harvest died away I had to turn elsewhere. To my blackcurrants. I had never eaten a fresh whole blackcurrant before. It's worth the investment in pot, canes and compost for that moment alone.

In porridge though it's like fireworks, a popping candy type experience as you get constant unexpected hits of flavour changing with each chew (yes I chew porridge, and once bit my tongue so badly I couldn't speak properly for a fortnight).

I currently (no pun intended) have enough to last a few weeks of gurt lush breakfasts, as they say in Brizzle. But to my surprise and hope this morning, my raspberry plant appears to be gearing itself up for a fresh batch.

Hallelujah