I love allotments. When I was a child there was what seemed a vast expanse of them at the end of our road, where some people even kept pigs. On Rogation Sunday the church choir would process down there and my sister and I had hysterics when we were told that the vicar would 'bless the pigs'. Allotments don't seem to have changed much over the years: the sometimes ramshackle huts and sheds; the contrast between the immaculate patch, all order and symmetry, and the getting-overgrown one to tut over; the way each plot looks different, even if the same crops are being grown, all make the allotment a wonderful little rus in urbis. Although this is a country area, not everyone has a large garden and allotments are in demand. This afternoon some friends of mine were having a pre-house moving plant sale on their allotment, so I moseyed on down there for a look.
Magnificent globe artichoke on the way. The foliage is silvery, furry and fabulous.
Yummy currant pies to come. The gooseberries were plumping up nicely. too.
Chelsea-standard hosta in a huge pot. It doesn't normally live on the allotment but was for sale.
It's my allotment and I'll have a pond if I want to.
I couldn't relieve my friends of their surplus tomato plants as I have nowhere to put them at the moment but I did buy two healthy little penstemon plants. Apparently one of them just might be 'Alice Hindley'; hope so, it's my favourite.