The Allotment Chef: Home-grown Recipes and Seasonal Stories. Paul Merrett

the task ahead. Chris listened intently as I told him that we have begun the ground assault. He agreed that a shed is absolutely vital and pointed out that we will also need to start thinking about garden tools.

      Stella asked if we had planted anything and I had to admit that, so far, I have only thought about clearing our space because that, in itself, is such an immense task. She suggested taking it bit by bit. Her view is that we might be spurred on once we have something in the ground. This is probably very true but the thought of actually planting anything has seemed further off every time I have considered it.

      It had taken Dilly, Doug, MJ and me the best part of a day to clear a relatively small patch for the shed, so I am already beginning to redraw the ground rules of our project. I consider pushing back the whole self-sufficiency thing to next year, by which time I hope all the weeds will have been removed. Stella’s suggestion, on the other hand, will allow us to clear and plant a certain area and then move on to the next section.

      After the match, despite still feeling a bit rusty, I join MJ, Ellie and Richie for a spot of digging with some new shovels. We all dig for a solid three hours until at last the base for the shed is fully dug and we can lay down the reclaimed paving stones that will act as the foundations for our yet-to-be-purchased Homebase shed. This small measure of progress is encouraging and we soon begin to tackle another small corner of the plot just as Stella had suggested.

      It fast becomes apparent that weed clearing is, quite literally, the tip of the problem. The patch of land that is now free of brambles and nettles has all sorts buried in it – we have uncovered glass, metal rods, bricks, medicine bottles (why?), gardening gloves (six pairs), shoes, rusty beer cans (lots of these!), and other assorted rubbish, and it feels as though we have inherited a landfill site rather than an allotment.

      I am sure there are some who would feel that all this preliminary work makes the eventual harvest more rewarding. MJ and I, however, reckon eating vegetables minus the graft is just as rewarding, and we can’t help wishing we had inherited a recently vacated and lovingly cared for plot that had only just been dug over and maybe had a mature pear tree in one corner.

      Back at home the allotment is also having an effect on our daily lives. As the project develops I am finding myself thinking more about our life in general. Every news bulletin seems to include some further evidence of the environmental destruction of the planet. I have long been aware of this but now, as I begin to live in tandem with the earth (well, I have dug a couple of holes), I realise that there is possibly a bigger effect to be had from the allotment than simply putting food on the table.

      Photograph by Mary-Jane Curtis

      Photograph by Mary-Jane Curtis

      MJ agrees with me that we, as a family, could make a bigger contribution to the planet-saving drive than we currently do. We have long been recycling paper, glass and plastic, but, to be honest, we could increase our efforts. I resolve to change all our light bulbs to energy-saving ones as soon as I can and, in the meantime, I sit the kids down and deliver a stirring lecture on the need to switch off lights when they leave a room (to be honest, this is a bit rich coming from me as I am possibly the worst offender in the house). I also advise the children to consider the amount of water they use. I sound like Al Gore as I stand in front of these two slightly bewildered children describing scenes of a sun-baked African village where children (‘much younger than you’) are forced to walk miles to a waterhole or pump before carrying a heavy container of water all the way back to their home. Once again, the irony of my speech is obvious – I have never once turned a tap off while brushing my teeth or put the plug in when washing a saucepan. However, I am not the first great leader to fail to practise what they preach and I do at least intend to change forthwith. From now on, baths are banned unless it’s your birthday and teeth must be brushed with no more than a cup of water. Ellie is horrified to learn that the toilet will only be flushed after number twos and that showers have a three-minute maximum time allowance.

      By this point, my children are quite used to my sudden bursts of enthusiasm over some life-changing project or another and it is obvious that they see these new house rules as nothing more than Dad’s latest rant. However, they look quite shocked that their mum is in full agreement, rather than raising her eyebrows as she normally does when Dad goes off on one.

      I really think that, if we are to be self-sufficient from our allotment, then we should embrace the whole lifestyle package. One clearly cannot expect credit for growing a carrot if one’s bin is stuffed full of plastic. With my convictions sharpened to peak condition, I turn up for a meeting at HarperCollins. I had known Jenny was behind the supermarket ban, but, when we discuss my green credentials, it soon becomes apparent that a spot of token recycling will not be tolerated. I will not be allowed to write a book about green living unless I do in fact ‘live green’. It occurs to me that I may have rather over-egged our green credentials and that actually we may not stand up to scrutiny, but there’s nothing like a challenge, and my family are more than up for it.

      Back at the plot, work continues. The shed base is ready, the compost bin has had its first delivery (a salad Ellie and Richie refused to eat!) and now the task of carving out and digging our first bed can begin.

      This involves hardcore digging. Each spade load is a mixture of earth, stones and bric-a-brac. After a whole Saturday toiling on the land we can dig no more. It’s back home for a quick supper then straight to bed for all of us – Saturday night and I’m in bed at half past nine. Vegetable growing sure is one crazy lifestyle!

      A day’s digging can make you feel fairly healthy – you are outdoors and it’s good honest physical work – similar to running a marathon (I expect). It’s the next day, however, that puts those healthy thoughts in perspective. Needless to say, I wake the following morning to find my hamstrings are so tight that it feels as though they have been tuned overnight by the ghost of Jimi Hendrix – I can’t scratch my bum let alone touch my toes.

      I eventually drag myself from the bed, go downstairs and almost immediately have a row with MJ over the allotment. I say we should have a day off; she disagrees and says she seriously doubts my commitment. Having said this, she grabs the kids and storms off to the allotment. I mooch about at home feeling a bit guilty for an hour or so and, in the end, think the best thing to do is to go down to the allotment, eat a slab of humble pie and show a bit willing.

      I eventually manage to lift my leg high enough to get it over the crossbar of my bicycle and, with a genuine feeling of goodwill, I very slowly make my way up Boston Road to the allotment. Dilly and Doug are there starting on a bed their side of the divide; MJ is digging away and all the kids are charging about, filthy, and having a great time.

      Having told MJ that I am sorry for my anti-allotment tendencies and reaffirmed my commitment, I grab the shovel and, with a look of resolve in my eye, I throw myself into the task in hand. On the third dig I fall to my knees in complete agony – I literally crumple up; my back