I HAVE, as they say in the vernacular, done my back in.
It was last week, by my calculation the first day decent enough to get out on the allotment.
I’d made no more than half a dozen lunges with the spade when I felt something akin to being bitten down to the spine just above the trouser line by an angry electric eel.
I immediately aged 40 years, huffing and staggering back home for the painkillers and anti-inflammatories.
This is a big blow. Last year, on holiday, about the time I was supposed to start digging the allotment, you may remember that I fell down a storm drain and ripped ligaments, putting me out of action for two months.
So this is the second year I can’t prepare my allotment. The rules of allotment-holding in our neck of the woods – the lower Holme Valley – have changed, and if I leave the ground fallow a second year I’ll have the plot taken away from me.
So here’s the deal – if anyone wants to do the spade work on my allotment I will do the planting, growing and maintenance.
I will offer the digger the accumulated knowledge of four decades of gardening – if they want it – and half the resulting produce.
If we like each other and get along, we can then be gardening partners. At some stage I might want to give the plot up, and my ‘partner’ at that stage would obviously have first call on the tenancy.
If this appeals, my email address is at the top of this page.