Soilman

French beans are go today. About the only thing I’m bang up to date with. Most everything else is behind schedule.

I won’t whinge about the weather again. Ok, I will. It’s been bloody awful. Ants are destroying everything on the plot because the soil’s so dry. God knows if these beans will survive.

On the plus side, my in-laws are coming to stay in a few weeks. I’m looking forward to this. Counter-intuitive, I know, but bear with me: they’re keen vegetable growers. Thus I’ll shortly be benefitting from much-needed help from clued-up gardeners. And I’ll be working them hard for their supper.

*cackles evilly*

Almost as welcome as rain.

You know what? I feel like giving up.

Didn’t think I’d ever type that, but there it is. I’m like these poor fuschias, wilting and drooping in this sizzling heat.

Even with an hour or more’s watering every evening, I’m barely keeping the allotment alive. Some things – the brassicas, for one – are doomed now, whatever I do: the cauliflowers are already producing those crinkly inner leaves that presage the formation of a useless, tiny, button-headed floret.

It’s all deeply disheartening, and it’s ruining what should – for any average, normal Brit – be a thrilling time: proper summers are rare as rocking horse shit hereabouts.

Instead of lolling about soaking up the rays, though, I’m busting my arse carrying cans of water. And when I’m not actually doing it, I’m dreading it.

So I can see a time in the near future, if this carries on, when I’ll be saying: “Enough already. Fuck it. Que sera, sera.”

I’ll essentially be writing off the plot for 2010. But then, since the asparagus I’ve not harvested so much as a rat’s arse anyway. So what have I lost?

Corn is outrageously good this year. I’ve had two good-sized ears on nearly every plant (average is 1.5 most seasons).

Wife and I are scoffing two cobs apiece every night. I swear I’ll turn yellow any minute.

I don’t mind gluts (exception: courgettes), because it helps me eat seasonally. When I’m thoroughly sick of a prolific vegetable it’s easier to go without in the ‘off’ seasons; the relief of not eating the bloody thing lasts for months.

So it’s OK if I DO go yellow, or start vomiting at the sight of corn.

This is What Eating Seasonally Is All About.

Probably should have made this picture black and white for the full artsy-fartsy look. I’m totally chuffed with my corn this year. It’s growing like hell and looking gorgeous.

God alone knows why. Yeah, yeah, I know the weather’s been good for corn. But still. That can’t explain why it’s worked SO well this year.

Honestly, I know I shouldn’t interrogate my successes, but it’s hard not to spend most of your time – as a gardener – living in a state of quasi-senility. Mostly, I’m baffled to hell. Dunno what I did wrong – or right.

Oh shit. Maybe I AM senile already.

If this is a taste of what’s to come, I’m all for it.

Today was sensational. Sunny, warm, barely a breath of wind. And the vegetables are loving it.

This is the asparagus I planted in early April. The fronds are a bit feeble, but that’s to be expected in their first year. They’ll thicken up well next season.

Sadly, I can’t attack ‘em even then; you shouldn’t cut asparagus until its third year. Just as well I’ve got another established bed, which is still producing enough spears for dinner four times a week.

We’ll be SO sick of it by mid June.

Hurrah! It’s going to be a long, hot summer. The UK Meteorological Office says so. It must be true!

Bloody hope so. After the deluges that passed for summers in 2007 and 2008, we’re owed a Jamaican-style tropical meltdown, I reckon. Confess I’m daring to hope, because I’ve had a feeling since February that the summer would be good. I can’t point to one single thing on the allotment that’s been, well, ‘different’. It’s just been a feeling.

There’s warm weather in the air. I’m sure of it.

No good reason for this photo. I took it at Wisley RHS garden in June, and recently came across it. Made me wistful for better days.

Days until Spring: 133

Days until Summer: Er, a hell of a lot more.

Shit.