Laura Potter and Catherine Rapley do very
little at the allotment. Photo: Susan Smillie
After weeks of hearing about bare-handed manure stirring, biodynamic composting and a mysterious tribe of bearded folk called the seed ambassadors, there was only one thing for it.
We stopped giggling at the back, donned our wellies and got stuck in at the allotment.
We can't pretend it's for love, we're in it for the money.
You see, our dazzling feature ideas aren't cutting it any more - the surefire route to promotion at Observer Magazine now lies in your dedication to a muddy patch of land on Hampstead Heath.
So, last week we finally bit the bullet and joined a gardening club from Gospel Oak primary school.
Surely our ignorance wouldn't be exposed by a group of under-10s, we reasoned, as we got our wellies on and fine tuned our blagging skills to impress the teachers with.
But as Courtney, Chris and co talked us through the finer points of horticultural conduct whilst expertly planting marigolds, it became painfully obvious to all that we were bottom of the class.
The upshot? We've now resigned ourselves to putting in some serious hours on the plot, at least giving the appearance of doing some digging and such like.
It's not all bad though. After spending the afternoon on the allotment we can understand the attraction, especially since we've spotted a lovely set of table and chairs perched under a very pretty tree. Perfect for sipping wine and watching the workers.
Any handy tips for relaxing at the allotment gratefully received. Ahem, we mean, beginners' gardening hints are most welcome - sorry, slipped our minds.
