How exciting. I’ve been in London for about 5 years now and have finally reached the top of an allotment waiting list.

I turned up at the site with a fresh pair of gardening gloves eagerly awaiting the unveiling of my specific plot. How high were the weeds going to be? Or was it possible that it would be handed over to me in near to perfect condition by a relocating keen gardener?

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The photo pretty much speaks for itself, don’t you think? Minimum of 6 months complete neglect while an army of bindweed and couch grass ravaged the zone. Still, it will be a long time before I enjoy a plate of fresh home grown peas if I get disheartened this early. Besides the site chairman kept slapping my “strong” arms and insisting that I wouldn’t let him down with this plot, so I had to remain enthusiastic and upbeat until he left me alone to survey my land.

I nipped down to the Allotment association shop and bought a fork, collected a seed catalogue for later and then hot footed it back to draw up a plan of action. I stumbled across my square patch wondering where the heck to start, risked spraining my ankles on untold hazards and managed to dislodge a wasps nest. Great! I desperately need a shed, a chair and a trangia for boiling water, a job of this magnitude requires careful consideration over a cuppa tea.

After two hours battling with bindweed I manged to uncover a plum tree and create this heap of vicious perennial weeds. That’ll have to be enough for one day as I have a wedding to attend now.

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