As soon as that fence is back up...

...I'll get round to ordering the grapevine. I only hope we are here long enough to reap the rewards.


Speaking of such things, i e wine, I have bottled my apple wine from last year and it looks tremendous. Nice and clear, but at the moment it tastes a bit like dry sherry, very strong, dry sherry. Nearly knocked my head off this morning when I had a sip - a mere sip, no more than a drop really. I think I may have a dangerous brew there. And there's me hoping for a nice subtle Pinot. Ho hum...


I cleared the last of the brussels off the allotment this afternoon and will probably go do some digging tomorrow, get a bit more muck in the ground and check the onions and garlic - looked fine, but it did look like some had been lifted slightly. Got about a hundred in I guess (stupidly can't remember what they are at the moment!) mixed varieties.


There are new allotment holders around me. One bunch seem really nice - cans of lager and a nice big bonfire! - but the other seems a bit bi-polar. Still, better than Skippy, on the next door plot. Skippy, because all he ever talks about is what he has picked up for nothing out of a skip. Actually, he does say things like, "Couch grass, not good", or "You don't want to do it like that mate, you wanna try putting the fork in a bit straighter, then pull back...", or "See that? Found that behind Tescos. Brilliant it is, display board, plastic based, won't rot you see, not like your wooden boards." 


The couch grass conversation was ludicrous. He just kept saying, "You really don't want it you know." To which I kept replying, "That's why I'm constantly digging it out." "Yeah well it just re-roots itself. You wanna burn it." On the day of this conversation I had a bonfire smouldering away and it's main contents was, Elymus repen. I don't like being rude. In fact, I steer away from it as much as I can and I like Skippy - when he's not there.


Couch grass. This old fella came up to me earlier on the same day I had the conversation with Skippy. The dialogue was thus:


Old Fella: Couch grass that is.
Me: Yeah, I know.
Old Fella: You wanna get rid of that.
Me: I am, it's why I am building a bonfire-
Old Fella: You wanna burn it.
Me: Actually, I'm making wine out of it.
Old Fella: (silence)
Me: (big smile, all teeth and rolling eyes)
Old Fella: (frown, gawp at the bonfire, back at me and exits, hot foot, stage right)


Happy supping!

The sun is here!

Isn't it nice when the forecast is right?


Off to start cleaning my in-laws new home. It's council sheltered housing and what with all these cuts, the council don't do it for you any more. So instead of being up to me knees in allotment mud, it's up to me arms in Cif! And using sandpaper to rub down some appalling use of Polyfilla. 


They have a little bit of garden too, so I may start on that as well, if the sun keeps making it's warmth felt.


Happy daze...