Discovered clumps of bluebells in the rain on our allotment yesterday.
Alan was a gem, dug a trough and did odd jobs like some guys tend to…
Been a bit poorly on and off for the last two weeks so the potatoes had been chittering in the kitchen for far too long (chittering means potatoes sitting in egg boxes to get the air so shoots appear before planting) so decided not to wait for better weather.
But planting potatoes is great for mindless pondering about life in general … so was thinking about my luck at having found a leaflet about Swanwick in my bag earlier. Someone had written their email on it for me, pity I couldn’t read their writing but looked up the Swanwick event and realised I used to go to their writing conferences in the seventies – and now that’s three potatoes planted.
Soggy muddy, me and my potatoes moved along the row remembering a Margaret Thompson Davis giving a talk at Swanwick all those years ago and how truly inspiring she had been. A generous and unassuming writer who wrote ‘The Breadmakers’ a trilogy based on her experience of living in the Gorbals – think I will call this bed the Margaret Thompson potato bed – four more hit the soil.
Last weeks post about John McCullough’s launch attracted loads of hits nearly as many as the fire in Cranleigh Avenue two years ago – strange old world – another two potatoes!
The chitterings in this set had really got above themselves, shooting out in frilly green coils with tiny ribbon roots in all directions. For no good reason I remembered getting above myself and dancing with Lionel Blair as a teenager in the room with the dull green velvet curtains (we lived with our Grandparents and the curtains were remnants of another age) one, two. three potatoes…
And then there were the red push up seats in the other room that dad had bought from a local cinema (like the ones in the upstairs reading bit of the Shakespeare Book Shop in Paris) we had twenty four of them for our little marionette theatre. Remembered that once Valentine Dyall (radio’s man in black) came to a performance – whew now the potatoes are dancing down the line.