A blog post from 2012 in memory of my Dad… Dad and I haven’t used weedkiller on the allotment yet.
That’s because Dad thinks the plot ‘only takes an hour to clear’ and I have a vague prejudice against chemicals and an idea that all the bending and stretching involved will help me lose weight.
But after three months of pulling up what look like the exact same nettles from the exact same place I’m beginning to think weight loss is over-rated.
Then one morning, Dad is tetchy. ‘That allotment looks a right mess. There’s weeds all over the shop. What are your plans?’
That does it. ‘Weedkiller,’ I say.
Of course, in the middle class part of the allotments, we don’t use the word ‘weedkiller’. We say Roundup, a ‘weed control’ product that is supposed to biodegrade as soon as it touches the soil.
‘You don’t want to go wasting your money on that,’ says Dad. ‘I’ve got some old stuff in the garage you can use.’
I am suspicious. ‘What’s it called?’
‘It hasn’t got a NAME. It’s just initials. Z’s and X’s. Letters from the arse end of the alphabet.’
‘Is it eco-friendly?’
‘What?’
‘You know, kind to the soil.’
‘Of course it isn’t kind,’ says Dad. ‘It’s poison. But what does that matter? I might drop dead tomorrow.’
I am beginning to realise this is his way of saying ‘whatever’.
‘And so might you,’ he adds, by way of a goodbye.
That night I toss and turn and when I finally sleep, I dream that Dad’s weedkiller has seeped into the water supply and killed all the children at the primary school across the road from the allotments.
Mr MS has to make one of his 3am cups of tea. ‘You’re taking this too seriously,’ he counsels. ‘Anyway, he’s only got six sachets. That’s only enough to take out one small pupil group.’
I try to relax. Whatever the stuff is, it can’t be that lethal. And if it is, I’ll just have to lie to the other allotment holders when their crops die. They won’t be able to pin it on us anyway, not if we do it mid-week when there’s no-one around.
The following afternoon, we mix the evil brew in the pink watering cans. It’s a dark cloudy grey, with what look like iron filings floating on top. Dad teeters off over the tussocky ground and sprinkles the evil potion over our plentiful clumps of nettles.
As advised, we wait ten days. Walking to the plot with Dad, I breathe a sigh of relief on one count at least. Everyone’s crops look fine.
But reaching our plot, I gasp. It looks torched. And where there were tall swaying stems with green heart shaped leaves, there are now blackened stalks with grey tatters hanging from them. I didn’t know you could feel sorry for nettles.
Dad frowns at a patch of burnt ground. ‘Shame about the grass. Perhaps I shouldn’t have made the stuff up double strength. Only it looked a bit weak.’

Delicious
I glance at our meagre crops of potatoes and turnips. They have survived but who knows what toxins they’ve absorbed?
But what can you do? Dad is coming to tea and I’m planning a turnip and potato bake, smothered in garlic and double cream.
I go ahead anyway. It’s delicious. Another bonus is that no-one drops dead, not even Dad.
Dad pushes his empty plate away. ‘I won’t be getting any more of that stuff in. ‘We’re as well weeding by hand. I mean, it only takes an hour to clear the plot, doesn’t it?’
I smile. ‘Not even as long as that.’
Illustrated by Janis Goodman
Oh dear the chemical dilemma. I haven’t used it on mine. But “organic” ought to mean plump produce. In my case, it means woody dwarf variety. Or maybe it’s field-dock and dandelion roots I’ve been chopping into the stew. They’re my major crop this year.
in fact, no more than 45 minutes, tops.
welcome back.
‘..it only takes an hour…’ I’m wondering if this could become a new code for all reluctant jobs – I think I may apply this measurement to the annual horror which is my ‘tax return’ for example!..Feels so much cosier somehow!!! Mandy, yet another corker, many many thanks, just read it with the first cuppa of the day – ah bliss xx
john… roast those dandelion roots and sliver them up – make a wonderful tea for your disgruntled female friends (tastes awful, but that’s another story)
Hi Mandy
it’s good to be back to my familiar faces and places. Having been away for a month you can imagine what giants we have returned to and I was feeling like getting drastic – once the rain stops! Thanks for the lesson in patience – it didn’t feel right to be even thinking about all those letters from the arse end of the alphabet! I loved that bit!!!
I feel your aches and pains after pulling weeds in my lawn this weekend. Roundup can by used safely if you swab the noxious weeds with it instead of spraying the area. The potatoes and turnips look tasty. I have some pubescent peppers and tomato blossoms finally in my meager sunlight.
“Weeds are good for wildlife” That’s another useful slogan
Ha! I know what you mean about ‘major crops’, John. They just aren’t the ones you plan, are they?
Helen, that’s an ace idea. Could be a useful way to tackle hoovering (a far worse job than weeding).
Kathy, have you ever done that with dandelion roots? Did it work as a tonic?
Maria, oh dear, there’s been so much rain while you’ve been away, too… good luck!
Lamar: pubescent peppers, ha ha!
Jenny, yes, someone on another allotment came over and begged us not to pull up all the himalayan balsam because her bees love it…
Hi Mandy – love the pink produce & purplepatch…both delicious. Also like the micro adaptation of the Thousand Acres ground-tainting theme.
Love
Jacqui
Mand, come over to dinner. Roast sliced dandelion root. Distinctive flavour but only takes an hour to prepare. Not even that.
Most of the time I envy you your allotment – especially when I see those tatties and turnips. But then i think about the weeding … I am another one who will be adopting the ‘only takes an hour; if that’ mantra.
Hi pals
Jac, you’re right. Next to green, pink is the main colour down at the allotment. After the nettles, himalayan balsam is the main weed, and that has a pink flower.
John, that seems to be the night I’m washing my hair…
Reb, sounds like a good move. Self delusion is the first step towards effective time management, I’m sure.
Hilarious as ever.
I love the idea of W X Y & Z being at the arse end of the alphabet – I must remember to incorporate that into a top dinner party conversation – that of course is if I live long enough to go to one ……
My Dad did that might die tomorrow malarky for 17 years added to ” this could be my last Christmas ” when me & M wanted to go somewhere sunny for Christmas once the ” kids” were all grown. Hell of a shock when he actually did & it actually was his last. On that jolly note – keep up the good work ( in more ways than one )& take care of your BACK.
Mandy – not to worry – we’ve got your back. We’ll keep a strict eye on it as you weed and… oh… that’s not what that means?
Came home to discover my partner in web land has decided unilaterally that our poetry website was off course and had blocked my access to it – without warning. Say what?
Where’s that racknfrackle dandelion root? I feel a hissy fit comin’ on.
Off to reluctantly build my own website. It should only take an hour, right?
Love to Mandy, her family, and all the commenters here. You are so much fun!
Sorry to hear about the website, K. I’m glad you got the chance to coin the wonderful word racknfrackle, though. That’s another word to work into your dinner party conversations, Charmaine (great idea by the way). I dare you.
Apparently traces of weedkiller found recently here in NZ have been linked back to the allotment.
Hi Mandy,
Love the expression, ‘arse end of the alphabet ‘and i thought it was just my dad that refered to everything in life in terms of his arse. Spoken like a true yorkshire man. My dad has used its ‘the arse end of the world ‘ to describe unfamiliar countries in far flung places.Also one of dads very overused expressions is’doesnt know their arse from their elbow ‘to describe anyone who doesnt meet his exacting standards. Keep the very amusing expressions coming.
Sue
Pete, ha, that’s excellent.
Sue, it’s great to hear of another Dad with similar expressions. Interesting how generations use the same word, too, but in a different way. For example, despite being comfortable with the ‘a’ word, I don’t think any of our Dads would say ‘can’t be arsed’.
note that the redo is up.
would be fun to do a racknfrackle poem with neologisms where all the cuss words should go.
should fit in our western allotments a lot.
right now what seems to go there instead are references to bad music and lost ball games.
“thanks for the insipiperation”, she said, sweating and hyperventilating as she tugged on a thistle missle. Yours cordially, KIW, aka Ms. Malaprop
Very apt to be reading your latest (and excellent as ever) blog whilst staying with Liz for the duration of this year’s Festival, Mandy. Her allotment’s about half an acre so everything under her roof appears to have come from the ground. I’ve dined on her sweetcorn, all manner of root veg and she even has teeny luscious Bingley-grown grapes in the fruit bowl. All serves to make me feel very inadequate, soon to return to the city life of sheepishly shopping in s*permarkets. Oooch.
Waiting to hear your racknfrackle poem, Kathy. I think it will be fabulous.
Grapes, Glynis? Impressive. You’re not alone in feeling ‘back to the supermarket’ spasms. Someone at our allotments said that, after eating homegrown all summer, he can hardly bear to handle a bag of Tesco’s spuds, let alone pay for them. I must say I don’t feel that passionate. I’m just looking forward to a rest from spinach.
PS… the season being past, I grabbed a tea bag of dandelion root (yes, cheated, bought it)nd I’m cured! of my hissiness – for now anyway).
So Mandy – wanted to tell you, I’m starting a new blog in addition to “news” – an “Alphabeastiary Habitatabet” based on medieval bestiaries, but focused on wildland critters and plants…
back to the dandelion tonic…
Mandy you so know better than to dare me to do something – red rag to a bull ……
I’ll let you know – ha .
I missed an opportunity at a Charity Dinner Saturday night at Elland Road but seeing as my amazing son Glenn had organised it for Meningitis in memory of the beautiful 8 month old baby girl who died last year & her lovely parents are friends of Glenn’s – I thought possibly not.
I’ll save ” the arse end of the alphabet ” for people I don’t like – probably Martin’s work Christmas Do . No – not probably – Definitely x
Some fun for mitigating WYXZ, including deer and rabbit visits.
Clip vials filled with highly concentrated garlic oil to your fencing. Unlike messy sprays, you don’t have to fuss with reapplying the repellent every time it rains.
The other cool thing is that while other repellents begin to break down when coming into contact with air.
Off to gather some oil to clip next to my grape plants.
Really love the weedkiller episode – very funny
Great news about the new blog, Kathy. Link it here when it’s up and running. Planted some garlic at an edge this week – not the same as oil but I still hope the rabbits won’t like it. Charmaine, please report back after the Xmas do! And Marilyn – thanks.
Is Dad digging it over for the winter frost? It used to be insisted on before we had raised beds.
Can I recommend a spud? This year I grew Edzell Blue (second early) they are the best taties ever (make pink fir apple mediocre). They have chewy blue skin and floury innards; superb roasties that you can’t stop eating. Edzell is some obscure place in East Scotland.
I do think your website one of the most inviting I’ve seen – perhaps I should get one, now the novel is finished.
deffo will Mandy – I am SO looking forward to it !!!!!
Thanks Harry, Edzell Blue noted. They sound delicious! We’ve finished our Desirees, which fell apart when cooked, and are onto our Nicolas: creamy yellow, close-textured, fab mashed with neeps. We’ve Kestrel and Beauty of Bute to come. Dad IS digging it over in theory, which is another way of saying I’m digging it over in practice. Even my muscles are getting muscles (as well as my aches getting aches).
If if if you can get some… order purple sweet potatoes. Yes, they really are purple. And they are notoriously hard to get. But oh yum um yum.
Look at all of us who keep signing in – you have groupies!
PS… epsom salts are a sure cure for owie muscles. I add pure essential lavender and peppermint oil drops to mine. Delicious, and no calories to soak in…
Like the sound of a 3am cup of tea!! ‘Thank goodness your dad couldn’t get his hands on a can of Zyklon B!! Another wonderful whimsical read. Great stuff!!
Thank you John – so glad you are enjoying the episodes. And thanks for being a loyal reader!