Carry on grazing

I do like old plates. But I do think they look better with a couple of hobnobs on. Or perhaps a piece of freshly made flapjack. Or some chocolate fridge cake.... Ok, I'm stalling for time here. Apparently I'm scaremongering about the houses - it's only a consultation document. But isn't that how things start out? Anyway, all the information is in the public domain, so I'll leave you to make up your own minds. Find it on http://www.wiltshire.gov/wiltshire2026 or pop along to the exhibition at The Activity Zone in Malmesbury. OK, I'll shut about houses now. The sheep can carry on grazing.

* * *

Down in the relative safety of the allotments, things are burgeoning - at least they are on my plot, despite my stalwartly No Dig approach. Some strawberry plants have appeared (thank you, Henry) and a lovely blackcurrant bush (thank you, Philip). I must say, I wasn't too sure about this no-dig business, but it certainly seems to be working for me.

"You need a mound for the strawberries," John points out helpfully.

"And you'll need to dig a trench if you want some raspberry canes," suggests Philip.

I busily dig my trench and construct my mound, carefully planting each strawberry plant along the ridge of the summit. Then I pop back home to fetch some vegetable peelings from the compost pot to line the trench, and I'm feeling quite pleased with myself until John points out that my mound and my trench are too close to each other and I won't be able to pick my raspberries without standing on my strawberries.

"I could always pick them from the other side," I point out. But John's expression tells me this isn't the Proper Way, and besides, it would probably entail treading on the other John's carrots. So I spend another hour carefully un-planting my strawberries and painstakinly moving my mound six inches to the West. Much to the amusement of the other gardeners.

* * *

Elsewhere, life carries on pretty much as always. Arthur seems to be making an amazing recovery from his car accident last month and is already home from hospital and getting about the house. The Little Somerford tree is up and draped with sparkly lights and everybody seems to be getting ready for Christmas. Everybody except me, that is. Better start mixing that Christmas cake. Might just treat myself to a couple of hobnobs first...

There Will Be Mud

The rain is coming down in stair rods this morning and Frog Lane is already a river, so I don't imagine there will be much gardening going on – well, for several reasons, really. The Garden Club – all twenty-something of them – have just set off for their annual gardens tour. This year the destination is Wales; Caernarfon, Penrhyn, Porthmadog, Bodnant and the famous ffestiniog steam railway... They'll just be tucking into their strawberry breakfast now, I should think, whilst whistling along the M4 towards the Severn Bridge. There was a lot of strawberry picking going on yesterday.

And for those of us left behind, what better day for tuning into Gardeners' Question Time, where there'll be some familiar voices amongst the questioners – Bernard, with his credit-crunch vegetables and my father-in-law with his unyielding blue clay. 3pm today, 2pm on Sunday, and for the rest of the week you'll be able to pick it up on the BBC iPlayer.

* * *

The National Gardens Scheme Open Gardens event at the weekend was a huge success – over 350 people came to visit and they all but ran out of cakes at the Mount House (although I think that may have had something to do with the fact that word had got around about Diane's fabulous cakes – and I can confirm, they were indeed fabulous, and I'm not given to easy praise where cakes are concerned). The gardens were of course spectacular, too. I wish someone would show me how to do a proper herbaceous border. Mine always just look like odd bits of plants dotted around interspersed by bits of earth the dog has had a bit of a dig at and flattened clumps of catmint that the cat has sat on. Ah well, maybe one day...