Wednesday, 11 March 2015

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!

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