“Slap me on my bottom and I’ll do it...”
… said the ageing drill, as we asked to it partake in the very simple task of securing some brackets into our new veg beds. It has since been sacked.
Another week has whizzed by, and here we are, sitting with a cup of tea and you listening to me ramble on about the doings From Keeper’s Cottage. Don’t worry, this somewhat ominous title, which could me easily misconstrued as something slightly racy, should your mind be of such a disposition, is not a run-down of any Valentine’s shenanigans, but rather the more banal tale of two DIY-reluctant men trying to complete the simple task of adding a bracket to wood.
There are some incredibly practical people in this world. For many of us, we will have watched programmes like Escape to the Chateau, and probably like me, many of you might have just thought ‘maybe I could do that?’ Especially after a glass or two of wine, I often feel I have the requisite skill set to retile the roof of a huge French castle. But I soon come crashing back down to reality, as I attempt to wrestle with the tin opener – one of the many tools I’ve never fully grasped the best way to operate (I blame being left-handed). Social media is also full of awe-inspiring accounts where people renovate homes from scratch, with their own bare hands. Incredible. Unfortunately, for us, and we have to accept where our limits lie, we were not blessed by the DIY gods. We also are both lacking (pretty significantly) in the patience department. One minor inconvenience can send either of us flying off the handle, and we really can never guess who will get struck by the mood first. Especially if Hanger is creeping in, which it inevitably always is for one of us. The problem I have is that when it comes to DIY, I would always (always!) rather be doing something else. But we want to grow our own veg, so we must solider on.
After ‘doing up’ a couple of houses (not all by ourselves, for sure!) we really didn’t want to take on a doer-upper. The market kind of dictated what our choices were when we moved in the post-Covid chaos. And silly, snobby me refused to look at any new builds. I don’t for a single second regret Keeper’s Cottage, but on weekends like this, I do wonder what it must be like to a) have a house that’s finished b) be able to operate a hand-drill (and if we ever move, I will be buying a completely renovated/new build property, that requires nothing more than adding colours to the walls).
Anyway, I digress. The planters. So yes, the drill – after a good 12 years’ service – has seen better days. So, we packed up, took the dogs for a walk and then as I headed off to an open doubles bowls tournament (I didn’t win, not even the raffle, but it was a nice evening and I wasn’t home too late, so what more can you ask from a Saturday night out?), Paul stoically headed to town to pick up a new drill. Today’s a new day, and planter building will happen. Though the ominous clouds looming above the aforementioned planters (or rather the sticks of wood waiting to be given a good screw) are making me wonder whether a day on the sofa with my book might be more sensible.
The plan, I hear you ask?
Well, if all goes to plan today, we will have six new veg beds assembled, and ready to go in our newly-designated allotment area in good time for the start of growing season. We will also be trying to supress some of the really invasive weeds surrounding them, and the existing planters that we made from the old shed, before they take over like last year. There’s an area of garden which we have never been able to really reclaim, and doc leaves just run rampant, strangling most things we try to plan. So, this year, before everything comes back, we want to get ahead.
We sometimes get shouted at on Instagram for saying we’re going to be taking out weeds, but really, there is very little biodiversity in that area of the garden, so I can’t see the harm in trying to give things a helping hand. The plan is to try to introduce lots more lovely wild plants and keep the area ‘wild’ but with variety that all the birds and bees will enjoy. Once we get the varieties right, we hope we can really just leave the area over to nature. We would also love to put in a small wild pond where the ground is naturally boggy. I also want to put in a path that leads to the river. Unlike behind the cottage, where there’s a huge drop to the river, the lower part of the garden (the plot is on a fairly steep gradient) has a meandering path down to the river with a little shoreline where I can put a table and chairs. It will be a little hideaway to escape with my book and a coffee in the spring and summer. That’s the plan anyway, stay tuned!
As for the veg we intend to grow, well, we’re still not entirely sure. Tatties do well here, so they’ll be going in. I fancy the idea of squash (I do love a nice autumnal soup) and broad beans. But as for the rest, well, open to suggestions for things that would do well in a cold, wet West Coast climate!
Stuffing, scones and salt shakers
Beyond our garden escapades, there’s not much else to report. We do have a Sunday dinner at the village hall next weekend, which we are hosting (as a committee, of which I am part of, of course). I will be trying to get ahead of myself and batch cooking homemade stuffing (Raymond Blanc’s recipe, which I’ve never done before), Paul will be batch cooking cheese scones to accompany the soups and I will be trying to source reasonably priced salt shakers and oilcloth table cloths (which are eye-wateringly expensive it turns out). As someone who gets very tense when entertaining, even just for two people, this meal could turn out to be very interesting indeed. I will maybe post late Sunday next week to feedback!
I hope you all have a good Sunday, whatever you have planned! G xx
Definitely blame being left handed on the tin opener! Also serrated knives and scissors to name a few. As a fellow left hander I had to adapt - in the 60s there was no time for such nonsense, 'if you can't cut a straight line with your left hand then use your right' the teacher would bellow! Also, during weekly 'writing practice' the two of us left handers who had dared to invade her class were told to sit on our left hands and use our right, as the fountain pens would only work with a right hand. Dreadful teaching, but accepted then, the only saving grace is that I can write with my right hand too! You can see, that now in my 60s, I am totally over my primary school teacher! 😂✒✂️
Good luck with the lunch guys!