Soilman

Apologies for radio silence here. As UK readers will know, this is because it’s IMPOSSIBLE TO GO OUTSIDE. Winter has returned, with a vengeance, and I’ve been forced to chain myself to a radiator with a large box of chocolates (yes, at gunpoint… since you ask).

This is bad enough, but I’m living with a cat who takes news of bad weather even more badly than I do – and who blames me for it. When I let him out in the morning to test the temperature of the patio with his paws, he turns a look of such malevolent hatred on me that I fully expect to be turned to stone.

So it’s with special fervour that I’m praying for a bit of sunshine.

PLEASE.

Think I may have left the parsnips a tad too long…

Given good soil and good conditions, parsnips grow to monster sizes. Some folks say they get woody and unpleasant to eat when they’re huge, but to be honest I’ve never noticed. Provided you cut out the core before cooking them, they’re fine.

And actually, this year’s crop has been my best ever. I’ve had two 15ft rows of huge, straight, tapering roots. Delicious, too, because all these frosts have sweetened them marvellously. This is Tender and True, my favourite variety.

How were your parsnips this season?

Some of you were sad enough to want to see my allotment shed.

Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you. First, it’s not a shed – it’s a plastic dumpster (whose assembly you can watch in my foolish video). Second, it’s a bloody disgrace.

I don’t do tidy. Tidy’s for tedious tossers. Sorry, but there it is. Apologies to all the tedious tossers I count among my friends. I love you guys. I know it’s a sickness.

That’s not to say I wouldn’t like to be tidier. I would. It’s just that becoming so would require becoming a tedious tosser. And some prices are just too high to pay.

I so am. Almost nine weeks after the shortest day, and it’s still dark, dank and freezing.

Message to God: END THIS BLOODY WINTER NOW BEFORE I GO MAD.

There was a bit of feeble, watery sunshine yesterday. Not warm, exactly, but a distinct improvement on conditions over the last two months.

Instead of cheering me up, it’s depressed me further; like Tantalus reaching for his grapes (is it just me, or does that phrase sound like it should be in the Viz Profanisaurus?), I thrilled to the prospect of Spring… then remembered it was still Feb 17.

Utterly gutted.

I’ve started a bit late this year. Celeriac usually gets sown end of January, because it needs a long, long growing season to achieve any size (and even then it sometimes fails to deliver much of a bulb).

The good news about a wet summer is that you get monster celeriac. In SE Britain, it was horribly dry last year so I got rubbish. I don’t want a pissing summer, God knows, but there is an upside.

Looks like a shanty town, huh? Welcome to “Slumdog Allotmenteer”.

I’m not proud of myself. A compost heap should look a bit ragged around the edges… but this is beyond unhygienic. The bags are full of chicken shit from my mother’s farm, and the pong is really minging. Makes your eyes water.

The rest is… well, junk. Let’s call a spade a spade: I’m a filthy bugger, and I need a clean up.

Mental note: Tidy up plot soonest.

“Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty”

Call me a dreamer. Call me a sadster. Tell me I need to get out more.

But hey, really. Is there anything more gorgeous than a neatly trimmed, manured, freshly dug vegetable plot?

Huge thrill this morning. Managed to take my morning shower without the bathroom light on.

“Pray, why?” you may ask. “Is this some new eroto-luminance perversion popular with the allotmenteering classes?”

Not exactly. It’s one of my personal winter foibles. You see, the day I can shower at 7am without artificial light is the day I know the sun is rising significantly earlier.

I’ve tried a few times over the last three weeks. Mostly with cartoon results – stubbed toes, histrionic slips with wild, flailing arms. I almost gave up last Tuesday when I spent 5 mins in pitch blackness trying to work up a lather with the soapdish.

But today, I managed it. Only shaving was a serious challenge: I look like Sweeney Todd’s practice dummy.

Still, the point is made: Spring’s bloody close.

For any SADsters out there who track these things (like me), today is a momentous day: the end of the darkest period of winter.

I’ve never been diagnosed with SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder), but a diagnosis feels superfluous. My symptoms tally perfectly with the medical dictionary.

Plus everyone says I’m a sad bastard. Ergo etc.

Anyway, the point is that mid-November to the end of January is the grimmest, darkest time. From now on, the days lengthen fast.

This does wonders for my mood. I get out of bed with a spring in my step. Even when I’m regularly visiting the gym*.

*The author wishes to make clear that this statement in no way implies any recommendation or endorsement, specific or general, of regular gym-going. On the contrary. As heretofore indicated from time to time, he fucking hates it.

Started the exercise regime today. Did a 5-mile speed walk with my sister around Bushey Park. Lovely day, perfect weather… and only one blister. Enjoyed it, and was relieved that it didn’t feel difficult. Not bad for a soft, fat, unfit old git.

It won’t do, of course. I can’t find that kind of time every day, so the gym will unfortunately be reintroduced to the Soilman timetable. But hey, into every life some rain must fall. It’s mostly chocolate that’s been falling into mine of late.

Many thanks to everyone for all the thoughtful and interesting exercise suggestions.