The Idiot Gardener

WARNING: This site contains information on gardening, brewing, curing meat,

building shit and hunting, all done in a piss-poor manner. It is not suitable for the

feeble-minded, the weak and lame, those of a nervous disposition, vegans and

vegetarians (and those other ones that only eat fish and the occasional bacon

sandwich - I think they're called 'hypocrites'), those who practice any

manner of folk singing or dancing, people named Colin or fans of Barry Gibb.

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!

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6 thoughts on “Stupid? I can do that!

  1. Kyna

    They say that you can’t call champagne champagne unless it comes from Champagne, France.

    If it’s white wine and it it sparkles, I don’t care if it comes in a box, it’s fucking champagne.

    So cheers to your Jersey Royals.

    And I beg to differ with you. It CAN get stupider than that. I work with the public. I can vouch.

  2. Fay McKenzie

    You’re blog is very funny – OK I laughed with you and of course not at you. ALL common mistakes afterall – and don’t send bergerac round, please. Our island use to be Norweigen – actually mosty I think folk here still think they are. We grow shetland blacks here too – in Orkney, or will a rampant shetlander get me for that?

    Nice variety of tatties you’re growing there.

    Great post!

  3. Cat

    Sorry for all your stupidity…I share your cerebral limitations in that I have a flower bed up front that I planted some type of ruellia in…10 years later, it has taken over half the front yard…I swear I dug it all up, at least 3 times. The kicker is there is none in the flower bed…it died up there years ago and spread everywhere else.


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