Plot No. 6!

I may not live to regret this but first let me explain.

 

Way back in the depths of winter during one

of my better, and more optimistic, spells healthwise

I was idly flicking through our little quarterly

village magazine when my attention fell upon

an article about the local allotment association

exhorting like-minded people to put their names

down for a plot.

 

Oh goody - I appear to have a composter!

 

I am no stranger to the lure of damp compost,

sturdy wellingtons and rows of neatly regimented

crops quietly burgeoning with a promise of even

better things to be had with just a litte care.

 

So what did I do?  I think you might just have guessed.

Like an idiot I dashed off a request for my name to

be placed forthwith on the waiting list and thought

no more of the matter.

 

The full enormity of it all.

 

That is until last night when I received a phone call to

say that, like scum, my name had risen to the top

of the pile and that I was to present myself at 2.30pm

sharp today at the allotments off  Boat Dyke Lane

when I would be shown my allotted plot  and duly

welcomed into the family of allotmenteers.

 

Coming, ready of not.

More will follow on this subject!