Potato Day and Chimpanzee Gardening

Potato Day.

Suffolk doesn't agree with me. From the moment I got up on Saturday morning with an outrageous hangover (see previous posts about new job round the corner from House of Danger) the odds of getting to Stonham Aspal were lengthening. None of the eejits from next door could be reached, my eejit wouldn't get out of bed and then had to work, but the monumental guilt that accompanies my hangovers drove me to the bus stop, then the train station. Imagined in my innocence that one could probably get a bus to Stonham Barns, given that it houses the East Anglian Showgrounds. Indeed one can. On Thursdays.

Two taxi rides and a cold hour-long wait on the platform at Stowmarket station later, I am the proud possessor of sixty seed potatoes. Taxi driver loved that. Ten different varieties. Got home just as it got dark. Woke up this morning, bucketing down. So I have potatoes, but nothing dug on the allotment. Am going to spend rest of afternoon caring for my potatoes, making little homes for them in egg boxes, and praying that eejits and nice man off A4A will take some of them or I'm going to be planting the bloody things in public parks. Not guerilla gardening so much as chimpanzee gardening. Ah well.

Parsnips still a no-show. Accidentally thinned all but two giant cauliflower beanstalks by trying to carefully snip off weakest seedlings first thing in the morning. Oop.