Hurrying up to the allotment, after yet another more-prolonged-than-hoped-absence, and full of good intentions to clear things up a bit, I was somewhat horrified to see a group of people gathered in a loose cluster but obviously not doing anything. Uh oh. I was right to be concerned: it was The Allotment Committee. Our allotment is Local Authority-owned, administered by the Parish Council. In the past the allotments have flourished under a system of benign neglect. The Clerk to the Council very properly allocates plots, organises the lawn mowing, and collects rents, all from the Parish Office. There is no communal seed buying or manure collecting or compost heap. Latterly, with the neighbouring cemetery space under increasing pressure, one or two plots have been confiscated to make more room for long term residents. But even those changes were effected without much evidence of officialdom on-site. Consequently a spirit of quiet independence reigned over the patch. Everyone was very happy to offer advice – if asked. No one seemed to take any interest in their fellow diggers, and a live-and-let-live philosophy seemed to prevail. Despite all the head-down, minding-your-own-business air, when probed, an awful lot of information could be unearthed, and not all of it to do with growing things. Occupations of fellow plot-holders, gardening styles – or lack thereof – were noted and passed on judiciously. “Oh you can rely on the soil in that plot. Jim digs it over every year, that’s good stuff there, that is!” “Well, we don’t see much of her; she doesn’t actually grow anything, just brings chairs up and leaves them scattered about.” Such an atmosphere suited my sporadic and laissez faire approach just fine. But this Spring I noticed a sea change. Suddenly, a lot of plots were being landscaped. There’s no other word for it. They were being carefully designed and planned. Hard standings were sprouting along with manicured stone paths between beds. New sheds were being erected – and painted! Some people spent a whole season without planting anything at all except infrastructure. This was serious – and a little intimidating. And then the Allotment Committee arrived. Plot holders’ numbers were checked and state of the plot noted. If no one was on a plot, questions were asked of neighbouring plot holders: “Have you ever seen anyone working this plot? How long ago?” etc. Fortunately, the Committee members were shepherded round by the local prize winner, a lovely man who made nice comments about each plot. Sometimes – particularly in the case of mine – this was challenging: last year’s bean poles were still up and adorned with the remains of what had been a poor crop even then. Couch grass and bindweed was evident in most beds, all of which needed re-digging. Both compost bins -and wheelbarrow – were already overflowing with weeds and brambles waiting to be composted or removed. But Mr Prize Winner managed: “Look at those beautiful artichokes” he said. “They are wonderful for bees and butterflies”. Cheered, I made some serious resolutions to up my game. But, yet again, life had other plans. A confirmed skin cancer needed excising from one leg – well that took out 8 weeks. Then a long-planned holiday. Returning, having cleared the beds – not soon enough for potato-planting, but still – I carefully sowed trays of beans in the greenhouse before going away, then proudly brought up my tray of plants. Then a necessary trip to visit family abroad-including a brother with terminal cancer. Back home 10 days later the beans were decimated: they might as well never have been planted. So I tried direct sowing, but no joy: no beans appeared. Finally I sowed the last of the packet of seeds, helped considerably by the gift of an assortment of left over seeds from a fellow plotholder. Presto, we had seedlings at last! A £1 packet of purple podded peas, bought at Chelsea, and sown direct also flourished, despite a determined attempt to die back almost immediately after appearing. Courgette plants also refused to grow: and thanks to some predator or other, whole plants simply disappeared soon after planting out. The corn seemed to stop at 2 feet high and the pumpkins never amounted to anything. The only thing that thrived were the golden beetroot, though I thought I’d sown chard (that never appeared either). And by August my much vaunted artichokes were long finished. So the Allotment Committee inspection was not welcome. Each member of the inspectorate held a clipboard and plot numbers and conditions were again duly noted. After all, we had had notice that Prizes Were To Be Awarded at the Village Show the following week. However I needn’t have worried. Keeping my head down, and weeding away, various snippets could be heard: “Oh do you know them? Isn’t he the Head of XXX? I heard she went off with the neighbour…”. “Oh those, I like growing them too”; “How do you cook those?” “Oh look at the little bunny rabbits, aren’t they just darling” (this from the PC Chair). Phew! Survived to fight again for another year…fingers crossed, there’s still some beans to harvest from that late sowing!