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.

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. […]

While gardeners are happy to emote about weeds – ‘those beautiful buttercups’ or ‘that bloody Himalayan Balsam’ – down at our allotment few voice their feelings about their own crops. Perhaps it seems taboo, like saying you have a favourite child.

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 […]