Titanarum

I don’t have many house plants. I used to have succulents, tradescantea, spider plants, and ferns to mention a few. Most of them were given up for adoption when I acquired my allotment some 7 years ago. Others died from neglect or over watering. Apart from the freesia bulbs (more of soon) and a rosette shaped succulent I only have one other plant left on the window sill: a begonia rex. This plant was adopted by me from an emigrating friend two years ago. She had had it on her south facing windowsill for 6 or 7 years and I was keen to have it because its leaves were a luminous, bright orange red. The photo shows a cousin from a garden centre but the colour is nowhere as amazing. And that is the problem with my plant too. The colour has turned unremarkable. I have a theory, though. The colour was a result of extreme nutrient deficiency, thirst and lack of space for the roots. The first thing I did upon taking it home was to re pot it in fresh soil: big mistake. Secondly, I gave it too much room to grow. Thirdly, the ample pot now means it is rarely thirsty. Since deciding that my goodness of heart was to blame for it turning ordinary I have made a point of neglecting it. The pot is still too big, but give it a few years and my begonia rex will shine once more.

Today I was asked if it was my bin in photo shown in the ‘Fresia Friend’ post The questioner used to be a friend but, as I divulge our conversation, I’m sure you’ll understand why this person is now merely an acquaintance.

‘You don’t compost vegetable leftovers and newspapers?’

‘I compost what I please when I please’ I replied. ‘Doesn’t everybody?’

‘I thought you had turned over a new leaf?  What with the council giving you free recycling boxes and you having no less than three 100 litre containers?’

‘Yeah. And your point is?’

 ‘That you aren’t practicing what you preach.’

How dare this person, whom I shan’t bother to give a gender, claim the moral high ground? I’m not having it. Doesn’t it suffice that I watched Hugh’s Chicken Run and Jamie’s Fowl Dinners and no longer eat battery chicken (not even in take-aways and ready meals, apart from now and again)? What more does the world want?

‘We all have a responsibility to the planet and to future generations. And you, of all people, ought to know it.’

I couldn’t bear it. With no answer to offer I did the only thing I could: hung up.

You know the packets of seeds that have ‘Giant, Super size and Exhibition’ written on banners across them? Who’d buy them? Who’d rate size higher than taste? People like Mr. W would. He’s already sowed his humongous onions and mile long leeks in his electrically heated and humidity controlled mini greenhouse. I ran into him the other day. A lovely fella in the autumn of his life. Always up for a chat, a smile and a wink. But behind the friendly exterior lurks a doggedly determined perfectionist. The straightness of his rows is legendary. And as for his weeding I am struggling for words. They don’t grow on his patch. Handpicking the seeds that fly in from neighbouring plots they never have a chance to sprout. And as for runner beans the only word that comes to mind is uniform. The man is truly awesome. And that is why for 30 odd years he has taken first prize in every single vegetable he has cared to grow. Nobody in their right mind would aspire to more than a silver medal if Mr W has entered his produce. I, of course, am a taste person. What care I if a bean is bent or a leek stumpy? Still, I salute  you, Mr W.

January. What a month. To depress myself further I’ve decided to make a list of what is most horrid about this long, dark period. 1 It is we.  2 It is cold.  3 The wind blows too harshly.  4 The heating bills are ridiculous and set to rise even further due to greedy energy companies.5 I have to pay my annual allotment fee. I don’t mind that as it is very cheap but it means remembering the number of my plot, and I can’t, so I have to go down there, heaven forbid, and find out. I do mind that.  6 I’m sick of clementines.  7 I’m bored with cabbage and potatoes.  8 There are too many daffodils bulbs emerging. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. 9 The buds on trees and shrubs are swelling up. Frost will kill every single one of them.  10 Tax has to be calculated and returned to the Inland Revenue.  

See. Wasn’t that just minging? And there’s still another 8 days to go before February can take over. And it isn’t as if that month is much better. But at least it is shorter. Let us be grateful for small mercies.

I am not alone. Love Thyself

Bulbs, what are they like? Wonderful. My freesias are going like the clappers. Yes, I planted them three months early. Yes, they are placed on a south facing windowsill with a radiator below. Yes, they are reaching for the sky growing taller by the minute. But who wants stocky freesias? Isn’t slim, fragile elegance what freesias should be about. And scent, of course. I am yet to find out about the truthfulness of the product description. It did say ‘intensely fragrant’ and being a trusting soul I believe what I read. The written word has authority, in my book. So to speak. It is easy to rubbish writers as Wikipedia addicted, cut and paste merchants. But I don’t go along with that. Writing is a noble profession, and copy writers are no exception. And as for the explosion of text and images thanks to internet and cable tv, doesn’t that just show how far we have come? Billions more can read and write now. Let’s think back to the time when scribes had to copy each word on a piece of vellum, just before Gutenberg’s wonderful invention of moving type in 1455, and count our blessings. Anyway, back to the bulbs. My freesias will not disappoint. And if they do they’ll share the fate of that horrid hyacinth on which I wasted so much energy. (See picture).

This man knows his fresias. Respect.

Bulbs, what are they like? Rubbish. Remember the hyacinth bulb I bought in November. Reduced for quick sale I bought it for £2.50, vase included. I rescued it from a fate worse than compost: the bin of Sainsbury debris. The Clementine sized bulb sent out roots galore but nothing happened on top. I stuck with it though, being caring and patient and all things gardener. And a month into the nursing the top began to respond. Much encouraged I posted a picture of it so that its promise could be shared. For isn’t a bud just that, a promise? But what a let down. Yes it grew. To the size of a toddlers hand. Yes it developed a hyacinth flower, a compacted fist-like tumour bent to the left. And yes, it was white like the picture on the package but for how long? A few days and then browning set in. It’s just not good enough. I know winter is a period of dearth for plant growers but come on. Get a grip. A plastic hyacinth doused in essential oil would have brought me more pleasure. And that is what life is about. Pleasure breeds joy, gratitude, loving and tenderness. Disappointment, on the other hand, brings nothing but rancid, sour, rotting emotions. Never again.

Garden Monkey, a blog new to me until recently, has moved. Go visit. You never go wrong with a monkey. 

What grows on the human tongue and is yellow, green and slimy and tastes abominably? Throat infection bacteria. And what’s more, whatever you try to feed yourself ends up tasting of them. Not fair. Am fed up. After ten days of feverish inactivity my bones are achy and my muscles weak. On the bright side is a noticeable weight loss. But with the bacteria finally slain by penicillin I feel ravenous. Now is the time for chocolate spread and peanut butter sandwiches, for creamed soups and gold topped milky coffees, for cheese fondues (maybe not, did you hear about the one that exploded?) and gateaux made of ganache. My dreams have been filled with foods my throat and stomach refused to let past my lips while I’ve had to make do with watery porridge and dry toast and the occasional mashed up banana. At times I’ve been too feeble to change the channels on the telly ending up with head to tail repeats of cookery programmes. Woe is indeed me. And thanks for sharing my pain. But back to gardening. Just like we have weeds and proper plants the body grows good and harmful bacteria. Now I’ve just had a visit from the bad bacteria and they liked my body so much and felt so at home they began mating. That is exactly what weeds do. They procreate and gradually take over. But fortunately modern science has a weapon: antibiotics. Unfortunately, the garden equivalent, herbicide, is no good. Well, it is. But we have to not use them because they hurt the planet. I would have liked to elaborate but being in recovery my energy has run out.