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To quote the Bristol's finest wordsmith:

"Every dog has it's day, and today is woof day. Today, I just want to bark"

Well, woof day was actually 2 weeks ago but it's taken me this long to bark about it. Yes, having demonstrated my ineptitude with a humble garden, I've now got the key to an allotment!

Many of you will have been here before. The joy followed by the fear. 

This is a big thing, make no mistake. On the one hand, no more cramming the onions in next to the raspberries, it's time to get some order in my veg. On the other, it's goodbye social life hello nagging guilt that I'm not keeping up with the Tom and Barberas...

Actually, no I'm not that foolish. I've learnt that I'm not the kind of guy to turn down a pint on a Thursday night, or even Monday night for that matter. 

Knowing this and having avoided allotment waiting lists for that very reason, I've pushed my way to the front of the queue. Yes, I've pounced on an opportunity to help work colleague Sian who, having won allotment newcomer of the year soon hit that 'difficult second year'. At the same time I apparently managed to cajole another work colleague to cover my lazy days.

With the need to up her gardening game Sian sought help. It just happened to be at the work Christmas party meaning I had hazy recollections of all this and was no doubt at my most enthusiastically vulnerable. 

However, my colleague Andy of divine comedy post fame couldn't remember a thing. Couldn't recall agreeing to help. Couldn't recall agreeing for his wife Emma to help, as I found out when I bumped into her with new born Dillon and congratulated her on allotment as well as baby...

Oh but it's a good plot, especially if you ignore the shadow of the 4-lane flyover next door. It's in a vast well kept allotment, with a direct view of the Clifton Suspension Bridge and the roar of Bristol City supporters in the background. Albeit rarely.

So far I've been good to my commitment, have got my hands dirty weeding and as thanks have been  treated to a leek. 

            

And today, the first signs of rhubarb appeared, something I've never grown. Although there is a lot of hard work ahead, I'm hopeful that between the four of us we can make this the finest plot in all of Bristol. Yeah, that's right, I'm already eyeing the other plots with a competitive glare...isn't that what modern allotments are truly about?

Actually no, for now I'm in the honeymoon period. I'll be calling on all of you with allotments for advice and ideas in weeks to come but for now we need your help identifying this. Digging up the weeds we keep finding this bright white silly string deep in the soil. Haven't a clue, but we assume it's bad? 

Stop if you think you've heard this one before

SNOW CHAOS!!!

Daily Telegraph, earlier today:

• Britain facing 40-hour 'snowstorm' with falls of up to 12in
• Commuters face nightmare journeys as rail network freezes
• Authorities warn of only essential travel amid chaos
• Network Rail: 'assume where white where biggest problems
• 3000+ schools close; A-level exams cancelled 
• Train passengers stranded as rail networks shut down
• Flights cancelled as passengers sit in airports
• Panic buying hits supermarkets as shelves cleared

They did the same last year, even when in some places it didn't actually snow (click me). 

If you're a journalist reading this, and are in any way responsible for today's doom-mongering then stop. Just stop.

And if you're one of these spooked types who saddled up the car, hot-trotted it down to Tescos to beat the neighbours to the last of the frozen burgers then woah there. 

I don't know a single person who didn't want a 'snow day' today. We're all having fun for once, out sledging, throwing snowballs at strangers, taking and sharing photos, warming our mittens on a hot chocolate or our insides with sherry (you know who you are). 

Spot the snowman!

And the world looks beautiful.

As for the garden, yes even hardy gardeners have had to pause. 

And how nice it is to do that eh? When does the garden ever stop and when does the soil get a break from our meddling? Ah, yes ok in my case perhaps I could do with a bit more meddling, but you get my point.

Today, the snow has flattened every inch of my back yard, and hopefully taken out a few snails with it.

With a few exceptions - I hope emergency services are getting through and perhaps those suffering a broken boiler have jumpers - it seems that the country hasn't come to a crippling standstill, and the garden isn't going to suffer. We're all far too resilient for that.

So for all you without genuine cause to worry, either go out and make the finest snow man you can or just get a brew and put your tootsies up. You can be safe in the knowledge that both you and your garden sometimes show more signs of life when the snow comes than perhaps any other winter day.

Failing that,you could always indulge in some of this miserablism instead:

Status Woe

So there I was ambling down the hill when I saw a magazine lying atop a recycling box, calling out "pick me, pick me".

'Allotment and leisure gardener' was its name.

Anyone who kids themselves that gardening is a leisurely pursuit is guilty of one or more of the 'sins' I'm about to share with you. 

Last year, a survey revealed the 10 biggest gardening faux pas. Apparently, gardening is the new frontline in the battle for social status as shown by the startling fact that 55% of us think negatively of neighbours who don't keep their gardens in check... 

Only 55% of us?

So what are these crimes? Lets count them down...

At 10 - Mock Grecian statues

If it's good enough for the Romans? 

In at 9 - Astroturf rather than real lawn

Astroturf has a bad name, all those sliced shins from hockey and football of my youth. But if you can't be bothered to push a lawnmower then you really shouldn't be allowed a garden!

Slipping 2 to 8 - Children's toys permanently left out

Have you ever tried to get your kids to clear away their toys? Exactly. Harsh call.

New entry at 7 - Completely paving a garden

If Astroturf screams laziness, this probably needs a call to the cops

Up one to 6 - Half finished decking

Um, eyes bigger than your stomach? 

Non mover at 5 - A dead lawn

No comment...

Re-entry at 4 - Overgrown hedges

The classic returns, and no it is not cool to trim them in the shape of a cockerel. Or anything similarly named.

At 3 - Broken garden furniture

Seen the prices at B&Q? No excuse.

At 2 - Overgrown garden

Given the rain we've had, and my own recent experiences I think we need to cut our neighbours a little slack. Or casually rearrange the garden boundaries...

At Number 1 - Litter

Who litters their own garden? Who?! Someone elses maybe.

Is there anything missing from this list? What annoys you about the neighbours garden the most? Leave me a comment, I'd love to know! Mainly because I can't see over my wall and I need some garden gossip!

And whilst you do that, don the denim and have a bit of Quo

New year's resignation?

A couple of weeks ago a small newspaper article caught my eye. It took our beloved gardening celebrities to task for giving the illusion that gardening is easy.  It appears that the likes of Titchmarsh and Fowler have been pressing their green thumb to their nose, wiggling their fingers and blowing us a raspberry. 

Whilst they have an army of helpers we, in awe of such passionate and trusting figures, have been fighting over 30th place on the local allotment waiting list to get a piece of the mucky action. Then, with our mitts on the keys and having claimed our precious we dance a middle class dance of joy only to ditch it at the first sign of hard work.

Amateur-gardeners-inspired-by-TV-being-turfed-off-overgrown-allotments

Now, I'm sure there are good genuine reasons for both wanting and giving up an allotment plot. The weather, for example.

It comes to something when even gardeners moan about the rain. Grim conditions have been just one of my many excuses for allowing my garden to get into the state that it has. 

On reflection, however, I have a nagging feeling that I'm just a little bit lazy. The slightest grey cloud becomes my excuse to hop it to the coffee shop.

So here I am on New Year's day. Do I want Titchmarsh chortling in my amateur face anymore? No. But is it his fault my garden is a mess? No.

Curse you filthy weather, damn you celebrities, gardening is about rolling up your sleeves. Yes, I too have written down the magic words 'I will spend more time in the garden'. But for once, I've followed this up with the courage to step out and take on the landscape of my own neglect.

Here is taster of what I faced this afternoon...

The whole garden was like this. A fallen tree, wind-strewn bird table and grow-houses, weeds amok, engulfing discarded pots and rubbish.

I took my saw to the tree and cut it to pieces, leaving a trunk that will find a curious ornamental look propped up against a wall, because I'm a bit weird like that.

Down came the cherry-coloured raspberry stalks, cut at the base ready to grow again at the hint of spring warmth.

Out came the mini hoe, decapitating young weedlings to reveal a juicy soil free to breathe again.

And my favourite hobby, deadheading my rose. Still healthy, vibrant and with a fresh bud. 

I wish I could show photos but my camera seems to have lost them. Honestly!

Gardening isn't easy, but if you like me face a daunting challenge out there, there is no better way than sticking on the wellies and getting dirty.

Happy new year, I hope you feel inspired and look out for a lot more from this blog...

Better the devil you grow?

Hands up if you're a foodie?

Hands up if you (truly) like being called a foodie?

Hmmm, thought not. Doesn't it just comes with just a hint of 'pretentious' in these austere times?

There is, I think, a real tension between the new Good Lifers and the Foodies. It's not so much that we are one or the other. Fact is, we're both, and the tension is deep in our soul. Be honest now, we all want to be Tom and Barbara down at the food market, complementing the local grower, but one sight of the fancy stall next door and we can't keep our hands off Jerry's falafels.

And so last night I was wooed to be a guest at a supper club hosted by Unearthed, at Bristol's Devilled Egg kitchen academy. It wasn't hard to woo me. Here is a company who aim to source the next 'must have' but accessible ingredients for us to work our magic with. So saying to me "Hapless, I have the finest Iberico pork us Brits are yet to taste, and this little piggy has your name on it". I mean, how is a boy to say no to a pitch like that?


Lets cut to the chase, this was foodie heaven. The sexiest kitchen with the hottest gadgets, two talented chefs and a private supper club, passionate and knowledgable hosts who smuggled in treats from all over the world for a handful of food writers (and me) to not just sample but gorge on, a goodie bag and best best best of all - a mini cool bag for my posh picnics for one (otherwise know as lunch) - it's always the small treats! 

The last time I was invited to sample food I had a blindfold. This time I could see my food, and my tastebuds sparkled knowing they wouldn't be alone. I polished off each course and the chefs certainly worked their magic. The highlight was the Iberico pork, which I was told would be more like steak and would even served a bit pink. It was juicy and moreish as a result, and every bit as good as the hype. No need for crackling, it came wrapped in chorizo and pastry.

Other joys included Calabrian ‘Nduja, and spiced red cabbage with Kabanos with kicks left right and centre to accompany the succulent meat.

Nigella, reckon you can beat that? All you need to do is tweet...

But hang on! I'm a gardener. This is about as far removed from my onions as possible. There were enough unpronounceable ingredients here to give Al Murray-pub landlord material for a whole new tour.

I can see my winter onion weeping as I neglect her for the fancy food mistress. Something inside me shouts "stop, this is immoral, I should be giving all my time to own garden". But then my immoral side wonders, perhaps if I innocently bring my mistress to the kitchen my onion may, y'know, perk up? Or as always with onions, will it just end in tears? 

So Unearthed, I have a challenge for you:

Take no more than three of your hard-sourced delicacies, take your pick of traditional allotment fare and produce me two recipes that prove to me you really can have it all. I'm looking to see hearty British vegetables that I can grow, seducing the most unattainable of your wares.

Once done, I'll be asking my lovely friend Ruth of yummymummycookingschool fame to make them and try them out on her boys for a verdict. These boys know their stuff being seasoned foragers, cooks and bloggers so this isn't a task to take lightly...

Good luck. And as you mull that over, have some Kylie

Bat out of Heligan

I sometimes wonder how much more exciting the world would be if there was a bit more imagination in our everyday. 

Somebody, somewhere had a moment of absolute genius in naming the gardens I visited this weekend - The Lost Gardens of Heligan.

Personally I love a bit of creativity in a name. Take band names for example. I've always admired hard rock band '...And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead, for the audacity to suggest that you only know half their name. One Direction? Not so clever now.

Equally, shop names. I was nearly thrilled by a what I thought was a 1940's/50's fashion shop in the beautiful if slightly pretentious seaside village of Fowey. 

A taste of Fowey

Yes, that's right, they've tried to hide a warship here

The shop was, I thought, called 'Everyone needs a little glamour in their life'. I was thrilled not because I'm after an outfit to show off my legs but because the name stood out a mile from your average high street name. It's actually the tag line for a boutique hotel and shop called Upton House, but for at least for a moment I thought it was inspiring.

Which takes me to why the name 'The Lost Gardens of Heligan' is so inspired. In reality it's the garden jewel in Cornwall's apparently glittering collection of both wild and trimmed outdoor worlds. The story goes that this botanical archaeologists dream, the grounds of the Tremayne family estate, lay untouched for 75 years after the first world war. In 1990 Tim Smith and John Willis, Tremayne descendants, discovered the gardens and set about a sympathetic restoration.

Yet the name takes this raw story and gives it the Hollywood treatment, as if you're on an adventure to uncover lost garden civilisations - Indiana Jones with a pair of shears.

An amazing amount of discovery and restoration has gone into the surprisingly vast gardens, that stretch for some 300 acres. Yet this is also a living project, with formal and vegetable gardens, livestock being raised to supply the cafe, and no doubt much more planned.

Highlights included the jungle, the core of restoration. I also adored the new orchard and a hugely romantic apple tree archway. 

The jungle is worth the visit alone, with boardwalks past giant rubarb, a series of lakes guarded by bamboo and banana plants, and a striking New Zealand Yew. From the view at the top to the detail of every plant there was enough to keep me jumping from botanist to explorer and back again for hours.

The route implores you to look up, down, at the whole picture and at every brushstroke. From the bottom, looking up I discovered my particular favourite - a Broccoli tree (at least, that's my new common name for it).

But above all else and despite my trip into the jungle, this, I decided that this was no place for latin names and the ethics of victorian international plant collecting, but instead more of a folk affair.

I was brought up on a diet of Enid Blyton, The Secret Garden and all manner of storytelling set in the grounds of old English manor houses and their type. At a young age your imagination takes over and never really leaves you. 

The Lost Gardens, for me, simply had to be a place where I could finally prove that there is more to the world than the mundane and predictable, tax dodging multi-nationals and bickering politicians.

And as if by magic, I found a sleeping giant

Look carefully and you'll see her

With a bit of imagination (and a lot of hard work), gardens can be much more than the sum of their plants. They can transport you out of the 24 hour news cycle into wherever you wish to be, whether handsome explorer or wistful folkie.

So as you mull that over, hit 'play' below, close your eyes, choose your garden and take in the utterly enchanting sound of Bat for Lashes.

50 Spades of Grey

So apparently, the key to a man's heart is not food, but a blindfold.

Well last night I had both. Together. In public...

But before you run a mile, this was a very innocent affair. I was invited by my friend Kat to take part in a blind tasting of the new menu at Bristol's Living Room. To spice things up, it was part of a competition against food bloggers around the country, as well as those round the table (it's amazing what the sight of a trophy does to people!)

So there I was, trussed up with the finest food bloggers in Bristol, whipped into a frenzy by things I'd not normally, um, sample.

Things kicked off with Black Forest ham and a mystery accompaniment containing 3 flavours to guess. I was given a goats cheese mousse, yet somehow I thought it was fig and black pepper. Off to a flyer.

The champion, showing that cool professional touch

The delights kept on coming, as did the wrong answers. I promise you, this is much harder than it looks. Still, there were some satisfied foodies as we gorged our way through the best of the menu (when I say we, I mean I - others apparently had more refined methods of tasting. I was just hungry!). I thought I'd perform well on the meat section. Not so. Apparently a mutton shepherds pie is not yet in fashion. It's venison this year, but mark my words...

Can you tell what it is yet?

Happily, there were combinations new to me and I actually left the evening feeling emboldened to be more adventurous with my dining habits. 

Like a typical bloke, the call of steak is all too often answered. Instead I could be having Glamorgan veggie sausages packed with leeks and caerphilly cheese. Hmmm, getting kicks eating vegetarian food whilst blindfolded and under duress? Hardcore quorn anyone? (I'm so sorry, that is truly appalling).

Anyway, we were treated to every section of the menu from starters right the way through mains and desserts to the cheeses and even cocktails.

The utmost concentration was required

But what does this have to do with gardening? Lots. How well do you know your fruit and vegetables with your eyes closed? In fact, do you know food at all? As you know, what I thought was fig, turned out to be goats cheese. My instinct for nutmeg was also apparently mistaken. It was green tea.

Basically I came home tail between my legs realising I don't know my ingredients, my flavours and indeed I have temporarily disowned my tastebuds.

Which takes me back to the reasons I grow veg. It's partly the privacy and wonder of time outside uninterupted, but it's also because I'd forgotten what food was all about. The care and energy needed to grow one simple vegetable, let alone meals all year round. And to know what they taste like fresh out of the ground, well, that's quite a treat.

Having said that, I've not yet found a seed called 'Moroccan spiced lamb' so until then i may be returning blindfold or not to my hosts for the evening. However I am inspired to clear the ground out there, digging up the last of the weeds and turning over the soil ready to plant next year's seeds. Of course, my first instinct this morning was to grab the spade.

But we all know you can't beat a good fork.

Wood grief

Trees don't just fall down on their own. 

Even if they're dead, which one of mine has been for a few years.

This came as quite a shock. You see, in the past its stupified state hasn't stopped it being a cat's playground

Nor a Christmas tree

But apparently, the new neighbours above (who on the first day of building work opened their window, which just happened to be by the tree (see above), and may have had a branch or two in the way) said 'we were wondering if it was dead, it must have just fallen down'.

Now granted, it is not the most elegant or mighty of trees, but on seeing it toppled I felt an overwhelming sense of sadness. Gardens aren't supposed to make you feel that. It was at that point I realised that it wasn't just the lost tree that upset me, it was the detachment, the neglect and the failure to garden at all this summer that hurt most. It was as if the garden was kicking me in the nuts saying 'Oi just because you're hapless, doesn't excuse your lack of effort. I can only do so much on my own, now get your sorry backside out here and get involved or there will be more horti-tragedy to handle'

It's not like it was a conscious choice not to garden. Instead, that inevitable creep of responsibility to feed myself through a regular salary, along with commitments to family, friends and sport is what did it for the grass.

I've had fun, I can't deny. A cracking weekend in Edinburgh, where sadly my camera failed me but I still got to indulge in the rather lovely Botanical Gardens.

I got to row along the stunning Avon Gorge (I promise you I'm the one in the front of the 3), and no amount of rain and cold weather dampened our spirits.

I won a medal. Not gold, but still.

But as with many, work is what finished me off. Relentless pressure and several trips to Fleetwood and Tynemouth have stopped me even picking my rotting raspberries and ripening pears. Before the violins are tuned up though please don't get me wrong, I'm fortunate to have my job and I made the most of any moment to savour the quiet beauty of faded resorts.

I took a windswept walk past the old outdoor swimming pool near Cullercoats and Whitely Bay (one for the closet Dire Straits fans out there). 

Meanwhile, having spent most of the last 2 years dropping in on Fleetwood the town had become familiar and is not without its charm... 

...not, however, a patch on the Blackpool Illuminations, which when driven through stir up the child like wonder of the fairground. Sadly they don't quite have the same effect in the light:

------------------------------------------------- 

But all the while, the garden withered. I'd failed to furnish her with any crops this year, and I'd allowed nature to make her own decisions, the sadness very much a selfish one.  Last weekend I escaped from the tree carnage, unable to face the clear up and went to my favourite avenue of proper trees, which were drenched in Autumn sunshine:

And of course after such a restorative walk, my grief was put into perspective. Gardens never die, they simply move on. There is hope and having just taken a 3 week break from the office to recapture my gardening, writing and creative spirit, I seriously hope I can catch up. Some clearing and pruning, planning and opportunistic planting perhaps? Thankfully the garden is showing signs of life:

One note of caution...

Don't be deceived by that medal. I'm in trouble. It is such a mess there is one mighty gallop ahead

Name that bloom #7

In a disturbing turn of events, I'm adding a flower that is not in my garden.

Now, I don't want you getting ideas that I'm in some way getting drawn beyond the practical world of vegetable growing into the whimsical land of petals. It's merely appreciation from afar. I promise.

That and after months of deliberation have invested in a lovely new camera. Bristol is awash with fuschias (is that how you spell it?) and I'm not a fan. But on a stroll past an unassuming terrace, this little gem called out to me. Any ideas?

Name that Bloom #6

Right, I imagine this is fairly simple for the more seasoned gardener.

Whatever it is, it rivals the apple tree next to it for height and keenness to impress. But it's not a tree, even if it thinks it is. The flowers are a bit sickly pink for my liking, and I'm not a fan of the leaves - make your mind up leaf, light or dark? None of this fancy business.

So, can anyone name this confused flower/tree for me?