Of hail and asparagus

It is the middle of April.  The days are lengthening, the trees are blooming (my thoughts go out to hay fever sufferers at this difficult time) and there is a gentle scent of May blossom in the air. The polytunnel floor is covered in seed trays and (thanks be the small gods of germination) seedlings. Its almost enough to make you think winter has finally thrown in the towel and you can start seriously contemplating beer gardens again. Or, perhaps, contemplate actually putting things into the ground in the big, exposed outdoors. Things like rocket, nasturtiums and other things that you perhaps planted a bit too early and are now getting a bit too big for their modules.

Most of you are probably far too competent to make this mistake, but what can I say, I got a bit overenthusiastic with the seeds. I have a seed problem. I also have a manure problem. And a weird vegetable problem (anyone ever seen a wa wa choi sum in the flesh? If so I’d really appreciate a photo as I’m currently planting in the dark on that one). I have numerous problems acquired since taking on the Plot.

I should have known better that to place any faith in the UK seasons. I should have remembered the time I nearly got hypothermia camping in April and woke up realising that the reason the tent was a bit dark was the layer of snow on top of it. Readers (if you exist) learn from my mistake and take all the warm things with you whenever you decide to commit the stupidity of sleeping outside in the UK. You can’t trust it.

But there is something in the psyche of the British that sees the first rays of sun and is immediately and predictably over-optimistic. Its an optimism born of generations of desperation for winter to just finally fuck-off and give us a break from the greyness, the endless layering of clothing in the vain hope of achieving a reasonable body temperature and winter brassica crops. Perhaps the endless winter brassicas are why so many people hate Brussel Sprouts. You can have too much of a good thing. Dreams of barbecues and not needing a coat are so tantalisingly close that we’ve almost bought the sausages and investigated the less substantial clothing at the back of the wardrobe. Easy to forget that, really, winter is just hiding round the corner waiting to waltz back into your life and bugger-up all your plans.

This extreme optimism bias regarding the weather is also contagious. Many a sensible, sane individual who has found themselves resident upon these shores has become subject to the same, utterly indefensible belief that a few days of wearing a T-shirt means we’re out of the woods. I don’t know, perhaps the weather in their country of origin is far more sensible and willing to commit to one season at a time. Perhaps in other places in the world the resident weather god isn’t a sociopathic practical joker with a poor sense of humour. In which case they are completely justified in their optimism. Either way, eventually we are all united in staring at the layer of ice on top of the water but and crying “But it was almost 20 degrees yesterday!” Or, as a fellow plot holder would say “There goes the chickpeas!” Don’t ask me how he grows chickpeas here, that’s a conversation we are yet to have.

I received a first-hand reminder of the maliciousness of the British Weather yesterday when I trundled down to my plot in the early evening to throw some water at the contents of the polytunnel. Having removed the self-watering greenhouse from Hell (self-watering because the roof was mostly hypothetical) and replaced it with a nice, shiny, new polytunnel (never again, but more about that elsewhere, this is about bashing the British weather not the horror of my incompetent DIY attempts) I have discovered that I need to do this with alarming frequency. So off I go in bright sunshine, thinking perhaps there’s a bit of a nip in the air but nothing drastic, innocently believing that I’ll do the watering and maybe get a couple of other bits done too. As you do. How naïve am I.

The actual SECOND I set foot on my plot that nip in the air was joined by increasingly noticeable gusts of wind. Quite a cold wind. And, rather rapidly, a lot of very dark cloud. Then it hailed at me. It actually fucking hailed. So there I am, collecting hail stones on my head, freezing my bits off and seriously questioning my life choices. All the voices in my head are united in the opinion that standing out in this attempting to dig over the last bit of horribly compacted, bind-weed riddled ground was not going to happen. Bollocks to that for a game of soldiers.

So I lurked in the polytunnel, hoping that paying extra for the heavier-duty polythene would pay-off and it wouldn’t self-destruct around me. I don’t know if any of you have polytunnels or have had the dubious privilege of sheltering in one during a hail storm, but for the record it sounds like the bastarding apocalypse is going on outside and the only thing between you and it is a thin layer of plastic.

So I did my watering, stared out of the polytunnel door and contemplated how my newly planted asparagus heads might be feeling right now. Now, I may be alone in this, but I always worry that the first time I have a go at something I’ll have got the instructions completely arse-about-face and created a monumental balls-up. In context of this, here is the conversation I had with my asparagus:

Asparagus “You utter bastard. You total, unmitigated bastard. Couldn’t you have waited another week? Did you have to remove us from our nice warm box and subject us to this shitshow? Do you have any fucking clue how cold it is right now? We are not buried deep enough for this!”

Me “I’m sorry, your box said to plant out as soon as you arrived so I thought I should get on with it. You got lots of manure and I followed the RHS instructions so you should be deep enough!”

Asparagus “Are you sure you followed them right? Its fucking drafty in here.”

Me “Look, I did my best ok? I dug the trench, I did the manure, I made the ridge thing, I spread your roots out, I did all the things it said.”

Asparagus “Well perhaps you did it wrong!”

Me “Well its not impossible, you are a first attempt after all. Kind of experimental really.”

Asparagus “Well thanks very fucking much for that. We get to suffer for your incompetence while you swan about telling people you’re having a go at something that’s meant to be complicated. That’s very nice that is. Don’t worry about us freezing our arses off, we’re an experiment we are! Disposable! Collateral damage to your learning curve! Ha! Leave us to our misery!”

In other words, I spent a few minutes being guilt-tripped by grass. Then I went home.

For those wanting to do a better job than I managed, here is the link to the RHS asparagus guide: How to grow Asparagus | RHS Vegetables