Stupid? I can do that!
Easter. So the Baby Jesus died, and the spuds went into their bags. Back in January, I was going to go to Damo’s local potato day, but on realising it would take 2 hours there, 2 hours back and a minimum of 1 hour there, I had a discussion with Mrs IG. Remember that we were off to Sri Lanka the next day, so the conversation went like this.
IG: It’s only 5 hours.
Mrs IG: We haven’t packed yet.
IG: Actually, you’re wrong. You have packed everything you need, you have sorted everything that needs sorting, and you are ready to go.
Mrs IG: Okay, you haven’t packed yet.
IG: Good point.
So, I nipped into a local garden centre that sells individual seed potatoes. On Good Friday they went out; King Edwards, Shetland Blacks, Estima, Jersey Royals and Pentland Javelin.
Okay, I know you’re not supposed to call them Jersey Royals unless they grow in Jersey, but here’s some facts. Well, here’s one fact. Jersey capitulated to the Nazis, and then we had to bale them out. I think that gives me the right to call my potatoes whatever I want. What are they going to do about it; send Bergerac after me?
I also spent Easter realising that I can still do stupid.
Artichokes are invasive. That’s why I dug out every last tuber to make way for a sweet potato bed. Maybe I missed one?
The curcubits had been in the propogator for two days and had just shown growth. I either had to move them and be late for the pub, or just go drinking. One more day can’t hurt, can it?
I did have some spare artichokes in January, just before I went away. That’s when I dug them all out, every last one of them! Realising that they wither, I read about storing them in sand. I had no sand. I figured I’d stick them in a bag in some compost until I was ready to cook them. It was the same as sand, right? I then put it in the dark cool shed. They wouldn’t grow. Even if they did a little bit, it wouldn’t matter. No harm done?
Can’t get stupider than that? You reckon? As I have often said, I didn’t choose the Idiot moniker for cheap laughs!