The big plan!

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This weeks prompt at Sunday Scribblings is The Plan which is quite funny because last weekend I had a plan, but unfortunately it didn't ecxactly go to err.. plan!

Last weekend I devised a plan. It was all to do with my newly acquired allotment. It was some time ago that I got the keys but I’m ashamed to say I’ve done nothing with it. Obviously I’m not going to be up and running in time for this year’s flower and vegetable show. The plot has been left to grow wild for some time, and it’ll take a whole season to get it back to a suitable condition in which to produce award winning specimens.

I think I was a little overambitious when I came up with the plan. I wrote it out in verse to make it sound less daunting and I pinned it to the wall of my shed. This is it:-

To pull the weeds

And dig the ground

To sow some seeds

Put fence around

Plant some plants

and paint the shed

and drink some wine

Then home to bed

I didn’t tell you did I? I found some really funky pink boots to wear when I’m gardening and I also found some quite glamorous gloves too! I bought a terribly pretty apron and I came across the prettiest straw hat to keep the sun off my head.

Meanwhile back to the plan. Well I started tugging at the weeds but they just kept snapping. Several times I pulled and pulled and then suddenly they came free sending me flying backwards and onto my derry air! (Why is ones hind quarters often referred to as a derry air? Perhaps Danny Boy knows!)

Anyway I soon got fed up with that. Old Bert in the next allotment watched me for a while. He leaned on his spade with a little grin on his face. After a while he came over and suggested it might be better if I treated the plot with weed killer. I said there was no way I would put anything down that would kill the little creatures of the undergrowth except possibly those creepy things with a hundred legs. (imagine if they needed socks and trousers! It would take all day for them to get dressed!)

He said there were some orgasmic weed killers (I think he meant organic, at least I hope he did! He was looking at me in a most peculiar way) so I decided to heed his advise and leave it for next weekend.

I managed to dig some of the ground but not a lot. I need to put that off too until the weeds have gone. As a result my plan to sow seeds fell on stony ground (that’s quite funny!!!)

I did manage to hammer in the little panels of fence. They are like wooden uprights with points on top and only about 18 inches tall. But they mark my territory well. I am even considering painting the fence to match the shed but that might be a little over the top.

Fortunately the weed situation didn’t stop me planting the plants my Dad gave me. They are already established and just needed a hole in the ground and some water to get them settled in.

Then the time came to paint the shed! I went inside and changed into some old clothes. I had to crouch down below the window as old Bert was still looking in my direction and I haven’t got round to knitting my curtains yet. There are just some of those net ones that old people like.

When I paint I do make a bit of a mess! I suppose I should have done a bit of preparation but I was so excited that I decided just to crack on. In all honesty the shed is a bit past it. I’ll probably have to buy a new one next year but in the meantime I’ll make do and make it as homely as I can.

The result is really quite ...startling! After all a pink shed is a little unusual on an allotment. I don’t think Bert is too impressed. He said it looks like a knocking shop whatever that is. He asked if I was going to hang a red light over the door. I told him not to be so silly. I've had to throw out a few old chairs and things ready for when I install my chaise longue (have I spelt that right?)

Actually its quite funny because I now have lots of pink weeds too and they are extremely rare!

The next part of my plan was the simplest. I took with me a couple of bottles of white zinfandel because the colour of the wine goes so well with the newly rendered exterior of the shed (why isn’t it called pink zinfandel? Another of life’s mysteries). Silly me forgot the most essential tool on my allotment – a corkscrew, but Bert came to rescue by pushing the cork down into the bottle with a screwdriver. Unfortunately it resulted in a plume of my wine shooting up into the sky and down again into my eye! What a waste. My friends Josh and Kate suddenly appeared, I swear they have a special radar which tells them when I’m opening a bottle! Bert sloped off and the three of us toasted my new venture – or should that read ADventure?

I wrote a little rhyme to end the day. Sadly I can’t remember it but I seem to recall it ended with the lines

Paint upon my chinny-chin

Paint upon my wrists

I’m sitting here

And drinking wine

I feel quite pinky pissed!

Bye bye for now!