Dosy

I smell of Weetabix; Weetabix that has had warm milk poured over it. The few days of beautiful sunshine have dried things out enough to get the tractor and topper out and cut that long stuff down. All fine, until two rows in I noticed a clowd rising out of the ground. I’d mown over a wasps nest.

They were, as any homeowner might be on observing his domicile under attack from huge spinning blades, a tad dischuffed. I dropped a cog and closed the tractor windows. Cue the not so gentle drumming of jaspers against glass.

A very hot lunchtime became a very hot lunchtime in an enclosed glass box with a hot engine a yard in front. I was already sweating; now I was making my own gravy. Most of you won’t know what sweating in a tractor is like…I suggest you keep it that way. Every pore leeks, every inch of clothing becomes soaked. It is a sauna only more so. And for some inexplicable reason it makes your clothes smell like Weetabix and warm milk. This is bad not only in that it’s not an aroma high on my list of preferences for colognes but hot milk on any other breakfast than porridge is very very wrong.

I think I may have to apply for the National Collection of Wasps to be conferred on Otter Farm. Every year there is some ridiculous episode or other with the little Hymenopterae… in little over a month there was Trent and his commando comedies, hot on the heels of an ill advised experiment with a pint of diesel.

I should have been working indoors on something thinky but the combination of sunshine and feeling dosy pushed me outside. I’m dosy having run up to London yesterday afternoon with Pam the Jam for Bloomsbury’s 25th anniversary. I ate, I worried the cocktail bar and spent part of the evening playing Celebrity Bingo with Laetitia Maklouf. I also half tripped up Michael Palin and spilt hazelnut ice cream on Hanif Kureishi‘s shoe. He didn’t see to mind, which may have something to do with him not seeming to notice.

A quick cab across town, the last train to Clarksville Dorchester, a 40 mile drive and a short sleep later and I’m supposed to be writing an article….and I wasn’t in the mood.

I’m involuntarily making a habit of short sleeps. Last weekend was the Malvern Autumn Show. Last year with Joe Swift and John Wright. Trent and I dressed the stage and I did some demos. This year I was there with Steve, Gill and John from River Cottage…me doing cocktail demos and being their
Debbie McGee
for curing and smoking, offal, mushroom and fish demos. For each demo I raided the many fine gardens and stands for herbs and leaves..and the Orchard Pavilion for sparkling and still perrys and ciders, and pear spirit from Charles Martell (the man behind stinking bishop cheese) and Once Upon A Tree’s ‘The Wonder’ pear dessert wine. All the ciders and perrys were special but Tom Oliver’s particularly so. Refined and delicious without being poncey. And it’s not often can you say you’ve had perry made by the hand of The Proclaimers’ tour manager.

All went well until about 10.21pm on Saturday when Steve and I realised that a very pleasant evening could only be improved by watching Match of the Day in bed. Let me be clear: separate beds, separate rooms. Hilariously, even though we had been booked in by the show organisers, the hotel gave us rooms over a wedding party that was taking place. How we laughed. Even more amusingly, they had put the party guests in rooms above ours. The church bells provided delightful distraction for the last time at 3am.

We thought that Gill might’ve been getting a few minutes extra kip when he didn’t show for the early breakfast…he called around 8 to let us know that he too had heard the party but only intermittently between visits to the loo. Food poisoning.

Sunday was good nevertheless…the sparkling perry and cider saw to that. Although Steve needed a bit of geeing up backstage to get him going…

  • Hello!
    I don't envy you that experience. It was hot enough walking and working in the fresh air this weekend (but wonderful nonetheless). I refused to spend any time in the greenhouse tidying up and sowing seeds until the sun was setting … and that was with the door open.
    At least your furnace protected you from irate wasps though. I accidentally uncovered a red ants nest in a pot yesterday; I had the plant in its new hole in the ground and was out of there pretty fast, before they could get their revenge.
    We didn't make the autumn show this year, looks like it was very entertaining…
    Sara

  • Mmmmmm Weetabix pits

    Do you know, it's funny Mark, because when you wrote about getting a tractor I had to stop myself from leaving a comment along the lines of: BUT WHAT IF YOU MOW OVER A BEES NEST?! I thought this would be churlish of me in light of your excitement and happiness at having a new toy. The bit you wrote about the long arm being able to reach under the vines made me wince for our little buzzy friends. And now look. *told you so face* *although I didn't*

  • Sara – red ants are the soldiers of the devil. And shame you missed Malvern, it was great fun as ever

    Kate – now steady on…this was a WASPS' nest. And you didn't say anyway, did you… *high ground face*

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