Soilman

Er… hello? Is there anyone there?

Sorry. Haven’t been here for a while. Ahem. Life got on top of me, rather. Too much to do, too little time. It happens.

New year’s resolution: Less waffling, less ranting, more gardening. Goddammit. And you can quote me on that when I next go off on one.

Today’s back-to-the-plot task was emptying the compost bin and spreading manure and compost on the plot. I love doing this. It’s hard work, but that earthy smell of shit and fresh compost (year-old vintage) is wildly stimulating. Makes me think of all the fantastic vegetables I’ll be growing later in the year.

It’s not far off now. The grim short days are lengthening, and soon I’ll be moaning about running out of time. Actually, who needs ‘soon’? I am running out of time. Curses.

Hard at it again. Weeds got a bit out of control over the summer, so I’ll be trying to wrest my allotment back from Nature over the next few months.

Have been enjoying Guns, germs and steel, a book about the rise of civilisation. The stuff about early agriculture and human settlement is particularly fascinating. If you were ever under the impression that there is something innately ‘superior’ about Europeans, you badly need to read this book to understand that pretty much everything that’s happened in human affairs since about 9000BC has come about solely thanks to geophysical determinism.

And, er, that’s my contribution for today.

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.

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.

OK, time to ‘fess up: I’ve been in Marrakech, Morocco. A very special treat in February for a SAD sufferer, and a huge boost to my flagging morale.

The sun shone every day, and it was glorious. Interesting from a gardener’s point of view, too; this is a shot of Yves St Laurent’s garden, the Jardin Majorelle (which contains a rather dignified and touching memorial to the man).

The yellow and blue theme runs throughout, with cacti and limpid pools making a rather special visual experience. Bizarrely, there seemed to be only French tourists there… which seemed a waste. If you’re ever in Marrakech, don’t miss it.

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.

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.

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.

It’s come to my attention that I’m a fat bastard.

I’ve been ignoring the evidence for some time, but it’s no longer possible. When I hauled my flubbery arse on to the scales just before Christmas, they broke. Warnings don’t come much clearer.

So: The new year diet (check) and the exercise regime (oh shit).

I hate exercise. Or rather, I hate the formal, trainers-and-gym-kit kind. Not just because it’s intensely boring and painful (although it is), but because it’s such a waste of time. And so fucking undignified.

There is always something more profitable, useful, helpful or intellectually worthwhile to be done than bobbing up and down on a cross-trainer blowing buckets of sweat and snot over passers-by.

Sadly, though, something has to give; otherwise I’ll be the Michelin man. Here, then, are the options.

The gym

Pros: It’s convenient(-ish). I can do an hour after work most days without buggering up my life too much.

Cons: See above. Plus I fucking hate it.

Walking/hiking

Pros: Nice scenery, less agonising than running/cross-training etc, less spiritually nihilistic.

Cons: Time-consuming. Requires serious timetable alteration and sacrifice to accommodate.

Swimming

Pros: Like gym, fairly easy to fit into my timetable.

Cons: I loathe it. And I mean, really loathe it. Leaves me sweaty, dry-skinned and chlorinated. Plus you know you’ve effectively been wallowing in child’s piss (in British public pools, anyway). Just the thought makes me want to heave.

‘Hobbies’

… by which I mean taking up something physical that’s also an entertainment. Dancing, for instance, which I used to be reasonably good at… and quite enjoyed.

Pros: Can be fun. Usually better with a partner or friend, though. Which is hard to arrange.

Cons: It’s difficult (and pricey) to do this sort of thing more than one night a week, which lowers its calorie-burning/exercise potential.

Conclusion: Haven’t reached one. The more I think about it, the longer I’m not doing anything – so it’s tempting to ponder longer.

Any suggestions?

So where’s the snow post? The one moaning about the weather? Surely the blog wouldn’t be complete without it?

Sorry. Refuse to do it. Harsh and unforgiving views etc.

“Cold Weather In Winter Shocker”… it’s not a headline, and it’s not a national emergency. Recommend the Norman Tebbit response to such crises: Get over it and get on yer bike. It won’t kill us.

And to those who’ve been panic buying in supermarkets, I can only sigh and say this: You’re a bunch of spineless, dimwitted tossers. I hope you choke on your stocks of unnecessary food.

Shit. I did the snow post after all.