While Lynn snuck out of bed to source cups of tea and toast, I churned out image after image of Gripple circuitry. I’d woken with a plan in my head and as an ever ready kind of a Scout, I just happen to keep a pad of grid paper by the bed for this sort of occurrence.

Having failed to find wire tensioners in Homebase last week I was pleased when my internet search uncovered a swanky new gadget for creating trellis constructions. It’s called the Gripple and I promptly ordered myself the starter pack of 4 Gripples, 4 Eye Hooks and a 30m reel of plastic wire.

This is where my puzzling started. Using only the above items, how do I (read: how does Lynn) create a fanned peach supporting wire combo with 4 lengths? We went for the 3rd aesthetically pleasing option and headed down to the plot.

I should perhaps have mentioned that we had chosen the weekend of the Severe Adverse Weather Warnings to partake in the peach transplantation event. It was a struggle removing the tree from the old plot with the famed light soil, a layer of ice had to be cracked away before the fork would gain entry and we ought to have thought about the difficulty of digging in our frozen heavy London clay plot.
But we didn’t.

I was keen to play with the new toys but my hands were freezing and I had to run up and down the plot doing high knee raises and clapping my hands before I could contend with the fiddly bits.

The design of the “tensulator” was very smart and when it work I was very impressed. When it didn’t work, I let myself down rather a lot and had one of those, throw yourself on the floor wailing, kinds of a strop. A bit embarassing.

Here I am, pre-wailing, trying to force the wire to go through the Gripple and out the other end so that I could loop it back. No amount of forcing was going to tease the wire through and the thing is designed not to let me pull the wire back out again and it wouldn’t.

Cue strop.

We had to cut it off in the end and Lynn took it away to the shed to perform some kind of surgery on it (or perhaps she thought if she left me alone I’d stop flouncing).

We managed to get this one on successfully in the end but another Gripple got stuck after looping it around and without wasting loads of wire we couldn’t cut this one off. It was in a locked position but couldn’t be tensioned and so the finished job looked a bit naff but worked in a fashion.

I don’t know why we had trouble with two of the Gripples, if I’d had a pack of spares I wouldn’t have got myself too worried but I needed all 4.

The working ones were very neat and it proved easy to build up the tension. Our posts now look decidedly wonky as the incremental tensioning pulled them into an apex.

I would like to have a handful of these in the shed for odd jobs but I’ll still remain concerned about their reliability.

My Dad left me his half tonne mattock after his last visit and a few swings of that saw my back in traction but also cracked the clay.

A robin swooped in to feast on some of the worms I’d just uncovered and reminded me how lovely it is to spend time down on the plot. With the feathering of snow also comes a peaceful calm that I rarely notice anywhere else. It’s a beautiful site.

The recent wet weather has made a huge difference to the clay, it’s incredibly heavy but you can at least force your tools through the surface. We got the peach in and it looked relatively cosy against its snowy backdrop.

Back at home we got to play with the connectable outdoor Christmas lights that Dobbies sent me to try out. We’ve never had outdoor lights before and the new acquisition left me rather popular.

My first attempt at laying them out was snubbed by all though.

I’d trailed them through the letterbox, creating quite a draft and a trip hazard combined, and the lights ran out before they reached the tree base but in my defense it was cold out there and I thought the twinkling effect set the recycling bin off very nicely.

We headed back to Homebase to research outdoor electric options and came back with an enclosed extension lead that we could position at the base of the tree and feed through a specially drilled hole in the window frame.

Our neighbours have kindly planted a leylandii which forms the perfect support for our lights. The kids were able to scrabble up and position the cabling while we stayed at the bottom prepared to catch them.

These Christmas Tree lights were very good quality piece of kit, the cabling is very solid and formed of 3 twined cables with generously spaced bulbs. There is a waterproof connector so that you can join multiple sets without leaving gaps in the lighting. We are quite tempted to go nuts and light up the whole house.

The weekend was scheduled for the installation of the guttering and water butt, a task I’d handed over to Lynn but not before I had passed on the benefit of my huge and heroically unsuccessful experiences. I’ve been spouting tales of woe for the last week, predicting DIY disasters of monumental proportions and just to add to the pressure I thought I’d invite my parents down to witness the whole event.

Of course my parents are renowned troopers in the allotment world so I might also have hoped to benefit a little from their digging prowess and work ethic as well.

This shot nicely captures Lynn’s fear as she spots the kinky boots I bought my mum a couple of Christmases ago, I like to think she’s wondering desperately how she can backtrack and remove wellington boots from the xmas wishlist she left me with.

Too late though I’m afraid.

I’ve been revisiting an old book “Companion Planting” by Gertrud Franck and it triggered a little obsession with the mass planting of spinach seeds. I sourced a bulk supplier, Seeds By Size, awaited delivery of my 25,000 spinach seeds and then waited for the general mocking and guffawing from the children to die down, before sitting down myself and wondering if I’d gone ever so slightly nuts.

I am reasonably content that the mocking will die down when they find plate-fulls of slimey green stuff turning up day after to day but between then and now there is a lot of planting to do.

Luckily my Dad was quite prepared to get stuck in there and start me off with the first row.

I think the general idea with the spinach planting is to cut and leave in-situ as a mulch or green manure but I’ll worry about the specifics later.

Heading back to the water butt, I’m afraid there is very little left to say.

It was disappointingly uneventful.

The guttering was erected in moments, Lynn and my mum sorted the trajectory without recourse to swearing and the whole thing was dressed up like a work of art before I had chance to get my hands dirty.

My hands may have remained relatively clean but I didn’t let my folks get away with anything easy.

All in all they transplanted two fruit trees, dug the grotty front patch, planted a rhubarb crown, transplanted a row of spring cabbage, commenced the sowing of the 25,000 and demonstrated a bit of synchronised digging.

I did give them a cup of tea though.

A post storm reccy revealed that the wind had completely denuded the shed of its patchy roofing felt. With only 15 mins allocated for the plot visit there was never going to be time enough for a full repair job.

A shed related edginess cast it’s shadow over our corner of the site as a slight “tension” emerged between the lazy starter-leaver (me) and the task focused completer-finisher (Lynn). I was of the view that without a hammer, a ladder, the time, the inclination or the right clothes, we should put the soon to be rotten shed roof to the back of our minds and continue with Plan A, returning to the shed problem next week.

Lynn isn’t built out of the same “sit down and ponder over a cup of tea” mould as me and it was clear that we were going to have to get this job done pronto or suffer the consequences.

Plans were hastily rearranged and after a quick retreat for tools (and a flask of tea) we were back and ready for action.

I tucked myself well away from the stressy end of the plot and dealt with the rubbish pile while Lynn got up close and personal with the shed.

The rubbish pile was the main reason for our planned quick visit, most of it had already gone – thanks to the committee ladies who had been helping us to dispose of all the crud. All that remained was for me to bag up the few remaining bits of polythene and carpet and evict a few squatters. Seven mice and a toad ran clear of the carpet (at least the mice ran, the toad just looked aghast and covered up his private parts).

We’ll have to add “Build Wildlife Haven” to our construction to do list now.

We left the plot with a new air of satisfied calm – the shed roof was repaired before the rains returned and the shed interior began to take shape as the “Room of One’s Own Mug” returns to it’s rightful centre stage spot in the prized construction.

Lynn’s words rang clear in my ears as she dropped me and her Dad off at the plot to get a head start with the shed: “Don’t let him turn it into a ridiculous Sedan Chair!”

When we first signed up for the plot, the good ladies of the committee informed us that we wouldn’t be able to install a shed until we had proved ourselves for a full year. That and the absence of running water almost amounted to a deal breaker but I was keen to start the plot transfer before the growing season kicked in and hoped we might be able to broker a shed deal in the New Year.

Last week we were rather overjoyed when a steady stream of committee members paid a visit and then offered us first dibs on an abandoned shed. It proved to be a rather smashing shed, probably a 7′ x 5′, half painted and yet completely draft proofed with expanding foam.

Roll on this weekend and the perfectly planned visit from Reg, shed builder extraordinaire, aka Lynn’s Dad.

I’ve done shed transplanting before and found it to be extremely stressful, so to be fair, if Reg were to come up with a suggestion that even hinted at making life easier, regardless of the comedy factor, I was going to jump at it.

And so it was when Lynn arrived back. Reg had constructed a sedan chair par excellence. Having unscrewed the floor all we had to do was enter the shed, close the doors, take the strain and walk it straight off it’s foundations along the road and onto our plot.

There were a good few people on the site that Friday morning but I have to give them credit, not one single digger looked up to gaze at the apparition of a walking shed. Maybe these things are commonplace in Norbury.

It was a heavy job and my forearms are still screaming but it was the most satisfactory construction project I’ve been involved with to date. In 3 hours only we had shifted the shed, mounted it on a level surface of bricks and pavers and completed the painting job.

Three cheers for Reg who came up with the bright idea and managed to sell it to a pair of doubting Thomases who ended up being extremely grateful for a job well done.

There was enough time left over for the more usual allotment chores such as digging, paving, planting and muck spreading. I’ve just set out a few herb plants between these paving slabs to provide an aromatic division between the beds and Lynn has prepared the holes ready for the fruit trees that we can shift across next week.

We decided to show mercy to our remaining forks by building raised beds in the concrete zone and filling them with the soft crumbly mound of compost piled high in the Clampett’s yard section of the plot.

Lynn spent the best part of two days trying to clear this area of unmentionable cruddiness. Hundreds of decaying carrier bags billowed up like a detritus confetti shower when the grim piles of stained carpet were hauled away.

The strawberries were collected from around the plot, pretty much the only surviving plants from the previous tenant. They are temporarily in situ, awaiting arrival of the fruit trees and weed suppressant fabric when they will go back in for good.

The whole nasty little job brightened our lives somewhat when the second depressing mound was cleared to reveal this stash of treats. We’ve got Victorian edging stones and classy looking paving slabs just waiting to transform our plot into something very special. What a find!

I’ve already gone mad with my seed catalogues and can see my completely frivolous purchase of three assorted crowns of rhubarb sitting quite at home in a geometric bed of terracotta tiles.

I’ve started digging in the second bed and it was considerably easier than expected. It was clumpy clay soil but at least I could get my fork in and out without requiring a trip to Homebase with my receipt.

Two rows of garlic have gone in and maybe the broad beans will join them next week.

The results of 3 weekends labouring are mapped out on the images below, top row showing the view from the bottom of the plot and the bottom row shows the top down view:

It was our first weekend on the plot.

As I arrived I plunged my fork into the ground, Scott of the Antarctic stylee. It twanged as it hit the surface, bounced back 2 metres and propagated an agonising wave up my arm. I started hopping around, whining about stress fractures and the general impossibleness of our situation.

Fortunately Lynn is less easily broken. As I was banished to the bottom of the plot, swoe in hand, Lynn started on the concrete zone. Less than 20 mins later she came towards me looking rather sheepish, holding two bits of my favourite fork in her hands.

Play was suspended for the morning.

Having revitalised ourselves with a chip butty and the purchase of another fork (this time with a 10 year guarantee) we returned and laboured hard into the afternoon.

Day 2 saw us back on the plot bright and early, trying to catch the attention of the committee members. With a growing pile of debris and a no bombfire rule, we needed insider assistance on the best route to dispose of it all. Thankfully after yesterdays hard labour we had both received gold stars and were welcomed back by the site bigwigs. Once a year they host a mammoth sitewide fire and our plot could provide the bulk of the fuel.

A little more digging around the bramble roots put paid to fork number 2. I’ll be having a battle at Homebase tomorrow as I try to claim on that 10 year guarantee.

Digging with bent tines is quite unsatisfactory. I imagine it’s like eating an apple with only one front tooth, a wobbly one at that.

We’re going to try a spade next weekend, in the hope that it will cope with the solid conditions better than the fork, we just can’t continue to go through tools at this rate.

Overall the results were quite satisfying for one weekends work. Most of the clearance has been superficial as we haven’t been able to breach below the 1 cm layer. Hopefully it will rain soon and we may be able to start proper digging.

There’s been some degree of performance anxiety in the house since the great marrow jam disaster of August 09.

We made a minor error of judgement when we told the whole, sorry, sloppy tale to the mother in law. Having triggered a nostalgic memory for jams of old she’s been threatening ever since to pull down her preserving pot and demonstrate culinary majesty over the humble squash.

Of course I am just too stubborn to roll over and admit that I’m plain useless in the conserve department. Instead of looking forward to a xmas present of beautifully presented preserves, I’ve been hoarding marrows for a future jam off. Not wanting to play my cards too early, they’ve been sitting in the veg rack going musky while I’ve been researching alternative routes to beautifully set jam, courtesy of Mrs Beeton.

Today we got to find out how the mother in law did with her entry into the challenge.

Courgettes are obviously quite popular in her house. By the time she came to prepare them, most had already been roasted and stuffed and the recipe needed to be halved. By the time the peeling, chopping and reckoning had been done it needed to be halved yet again.

Sugar, courgette  and lemon were left to marinade overnight just as I had done a couple of months earlier. The veg was then boiled and potted and left overnight.

Having just disposed of our runny mass of lumpy syrup, Lynn knew to cut straight to the chase with her line of questioning: “Did it set?”

Did it set?
Set?!
It was like flipping concrete.

Apparently Sheila (said mother in law) couldn’t make an impact on the concrete and unable to remove it from the jar she ended up throwing the whole thing away. The pan took her 2 days to scrub clean and that was after spending the previous 3 days trying to rub away the remains of burnt beetroot.

Maybe now I can relax and consign the flaccid marrow to the compost bin, pride intact.

We went to examine a vacant plot last week and came away having signed on the dotted line. I see before me a winter of heavy digging in an attempt to tame yet another South West London allotment.

It’s only two years ago that I took over the plot at North Sheen. That plot was in a fair old state but the wonderfully light soil conditions meant that I was able to make impressive improvements day by day. This new plot is based on heavy clay soil so no doubt our rewards will be considerably slower.

It’s quite an exciting time, daunting but full of promise. The fresh start is an ideal time to have a complete re-plan. I’ve listed all the veg that the kids are prepared to eat, added a few of our favourites and armed with a spreadsheet and a measuring tape, I ought to be able to make a highly productive strip. Planning isn’t one of my strong points though, within the space of 5 minutes I managed to order the same seed from two different catalogues – I’ll have to extend the leek bed.

Here are the initial photos from our first visit, it’s a long thin plot of 5 rods. We can’t actually start work before the 1st October, which effectively means that D-Day is set for Saturday. I better book the massage session now.