There is nothing quite like the thrill of picking your very first home grown veg (apart from the end of a powerplate class..) And for the past 3 months I have been proud mother to a healthy, happy brood of courgettes, a moody bunch of tomatoes and a downright boorish crop of peppers.
The funny thing is that whilst I am proud that I’ve managed to keep at least one breed of veg alive I think my neighbours have had far more enjoyment from my vegetable plot than I have. This is mostly because I am a wimp and if anything other than organic matter touches me I totally freak out.
So imagine my neighbour’s (a middle age man who lives next door but to whom I’ve only ever waved at) delight when whilst casually looking out the window witnesses a Beadle classic of me screaming being “chased” around my garden by a HUGE frog. Now I’m not exactly scared of frogs however when they are purposely camouflaging themselves as a courgette leaf ready to pounce, they’re not going to make it onto my Christmas card list.
Fast forward a week and once move I naively ventured down to get the penultimate courgette (sniff sniff) of the season and proudly entered my plot. Within seconds I knew I had been violated. To my horror I’d walked through what can only be described as an arachnids lair and had the mother of all 8-legged creatures trying to bite my calf. I have never thrown such crazy shapes as I did at the exact point that I preceded to strip off my clothes. The rest is not a pretty story but let’s just say by the time I got back into my front door I was just in my smalls hitting myself indiscriminately.. yes I know, i'm so cool.
So the moral of the story is vegetables = ritual humiliation. You have been warned.
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