Mandy Sutter, Writer

November is an uninspiring time for gardeners. Days are indecently short, and the grunt work of weeding and digging isn’t balanced by the usual joy of planting.

When I mention the allotment to friends, they often say ‘how rewarding, eating your own veg! And all that fresh air you get.’

These friends aren’t allotment-holders. The ones that are raise their eyebrows and silently clasp my shoulder to express their sympathy at this difficult time of year.

For the last few months, people down at the allotments have been talking horseshit. Along with good tools and tartan thermos flasks, they seem to swear by it. So when a chap called ‘Mr Muck’  delivers a gently steaming mountain, I make enquiries. ‘Ah, manure belongs to t’bloke int blue pick up,’ says the bee […]