2012 – A year of gardening dangerously!
Let’s be honest; 2011 started badly, with grief before the year had even begun. It was as if that shit tainted the whole year for me, creating a smudge of misery that permeated everything I attempted to achieve. Every time I thought I saw a turning point, a chink of light far off on the horizon, Old Father Time sharpened his scythe and rammed it, each time a little deeper, right where the sun don’t shine. What with the arse-based lacerations of sorrow and the wobbly weather, the whole year never really got going. It felt flat, and towards the end of the year I was down. Down, but not out! No siree, not out at all. Except for when I went out, but that’s different.
Now 2012 is upon us, and it will hopefully be a better year. Okay, it WILL be a better year, most definitely. Hope has nothing to do with it; there’s no room for optimism, only positivity and sheer bloody-mindedness. Hope is for the hopeless, and clues are for the clueless. For idiots, there’s only the pure utter unadulterated conviction that everything will come together in a perfect conclusion!
Firstly, there is still every chance that the Idiot Masterplan will expand. I’m not counting my chickens, because I haven’t got any, and if I did have any I couldn’t be arsed to count them. I would just look at them and think, “I have some chickens”. Why do you count chickens when you want something to happen, but count sheep when you need to sleep? What about pigs? Where was I? Oh yes, I’m not counting my imaginary chickens but I have been invited to the inaugral meeting of the new Allotment Association’s committee. I figure that if they’ve done that, I must be in with a bloody good shot at getting a plot, although nothing has been confirmed as of yet. If I can get through that meeting without giving away the small fact that I’m a fucking twat, I might just be able to annex a bit more territory! Today, an allotment plot in Sussex, tomorrow Poland!
I have decreed that 2012 will also be the year of the greenhouse. Am I buying myself a greenhouse? Am I bollocks! I’m going to build one, made out of old timber, patio doors and other shit! The challenge is to use a bunch of old crap, but to make it look like a palace. I’ll probably put a cupola on it too! I don’t know why, but it has something to do with my madness which decrees I can’t do anything without going right over the top.
What with the allotment and the greenhouse, I intend to expand the Idiot Mastercrop to include onions, globe artichokes, shallots, celery, sweetcorn and peas, as well as having a second crack at celeriac, salsify, fennel and leeks. There will also be rhubarb and raspberries. I also intend to stop growing herbs in a collection of pots and create a multi-tiered herbage reminiscent of an Escher drawing!
So, you might be wondering, what’s dangerous about any of that old nonsense. Well, allow me to elucidate: 2012 will also be the year that I burst – snarling and slavering – onto the horticultural show scene. Well, the Oxted and Edenbridge Agricultural Show to be exact! After Mr Depressing Bastard sneered at the sad story about my tomatoes last year, this year I intend to win something, and then to celebrate by kicking his cripple stick away. It might not be fair, it might not be big, and it might be very insensitive, but fuck him; he started it!
So that’s the main plan for 2012 (alongside the staple crops too, plus hopefully another new raised bed), and if you think it’s a lot to achieve, then you’re be bloody well right. Give yourself a Gold Star for spotting the bleeding obvious. However, as every year passes, the voices get louder, and I need hard toil to block them out (yeah, thanks Dad for the mentalism).
2012? Bring it on!