Lighter nights mean that I can fit in trips to the allotment after tea in emergencies. Emergencies like the knee high grass (which gracefully adorned my bunches at my recent stall, so thank you grass, but now it's time for a trim...).
As a new convert to the world of petrol mowers, with a mustard keen mower of a child, I was virtually frogmarched to the plot to engage in some after dinner grass removal. Mowing delegated to offspring, that left me free to plant out the hundredweight pumpkin and winter squash 'cha cha', kind donations from a neighbouring plot holder, into manure rich spots. Sweet peas also got hoisted into position by new loops of friendly string.
It's amazing how much difference a haircut makes to allotments - they go from looking semi-derelict to almost well tended in one grumble of a petrol engine.... Which reminds me, I must try to phone the hairdresser tomorrow to get my own locks strimmed.
This is cool!
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