Mandy Sutter, Writer

Last in a series of reissued blog posts in memory of my Dad… I have come to love Autumn, with its promise of a long brutal winter to come that freezes the ground and makes gardening impossible. But this year when September arrives, Dad rings with strange news. ‘You’ll never guess. We’ve been awarded the […]

I find fresh mounds of finely churned soil every time I visit our allotment, as if a tiny phantom rotovator is on the loose.

Composting is a complex business. When we whipped the plastic tarp off our heap this Spring, the whole thing was as dry as a crust. To worms and beetles visiting for their winter holidays, it must have been a bitter disappointment, like arriving at a half-built hotel.

In memory of my Dad…  A fallen wych elm on our plot is attracting attention. It’s close enough to the fence for passing male dogs to pee on. Passing male men would probably like to do the same but convention dictates that they can only eye it and ask questions. What happened to your tree?’ […]

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. […]