Who Flung Dung Deux

Cakeatonne and I have been chipping away at the old dung pile and now it is no more. £80 worth of the old umber magic carted down to the plot. My pythons were singing the whole time. Actually Parsley called them worms. They are a tad out of practice. One thing I can't seem to shake is achy hips. Now I'm no James Brown, in many senses but these hip catastrophes are doing my shed in. Is it the cold? Is it my body protesting against real work, the real work of being outside for a change? Or am I getting old? Whatever I'm writing this blog in the fullness of Midwinter Spring, and I feel just fine.

The dung looks ace on the plot, all nice and ordered. Still we have to rake it over so it's evenly spread over the cardboard, I had a wee go at that the other day and the pythons moaned after five minutes. Really I am dreadfully out of practice, and if I'm going to attain the Greek God physique I had some two years ago. What hasn't changed from two years ago is Parsley as overlord. She was making me rake up as much of that muck as was humanly possible:

Parsley: 'Go and grab a rake there's still loads of manure on the path and in those brambles.'

Oregano: 'My pythons are screaming and I swear there's nothing left!'

Parsley: 'Are you kidding? There's easily another two barrows left in there.'

Oregano: [Sarcastic] 'Oh yeah! Look there's £2.50 0n the path and another £7 in the brambles haaaaaa.'

Parsley: 'Shut up Howard.'*

* This came from a conversation we had about Howard from Take That. For those of you new to the blog, or with a bad memory Parsley thinks I look like him. See http://parsleyandoregano.blogspot.com/2009/08/fat-pigeons-hedgehogs-and-howard-from.html. He's also playing at Gatecrasher later this month. However if he pulls that quasi-smile (lower lip tucked in so he looks like he has no bottom teeth: take a closer look) then I'm not going. VIP entrance or no!

Pace.

Fat Pigeons, Hedgehogs and Howard from Take That

As you can see, the likeness is truly remarkable.

Parsley : 'Haha! You look like Howard from Take That in your crap blue jeans!'

Oregano : 'Shut up, Gary.'

Parsley : 'Have you not got a belt for those jeans Howard? Your arse is hanging out.'

Oregano : 'I'm gonna take a running kick at your faff in a minute.'

Parsley : 'Sing a Take That song, Howard - COULD IT BE MAGIC NOW! Hang on, stop saying faff please.'

So started another day of allotment hilarity. We went down with a wheelbarrow load of glyphosate, carpet from Thinktank, petrol strimmer, boots, minging sandwiches (mine at least - consider the combination of processed honey roast ham and peanut butter....on cold toast), secateurs, water and bin bags. We were all set for a long day's work.

Ate lunch and talked for about an hour in the sun, on our kudos Pavilion (refer to Allotment Toimes for a photo). Thereafter Kate picked blackberries from our burgeoning little jungle. I bagged up yet more bottles from an overgrown crate next to wasp central. Once it was emptied, I moved the crate to the back fence where it became our fourth composting bin. Hacking back at the tangle of snakes (not Pythons) that was nettle, bramble and weed, I moved about three / four barrow loads to be composted. As the plot is

still thickly overgrown, I was traversing ankle - breaker holes and paving slabs. Muchas gracias to Jake aka Snakeob for uncovering a few of the paths that were laid down by Ian the wraith.

Work was very gradual. However the banter was thick and fast - I'd say 70% Take That reference, 15% inadequate belt and jeans complaints, 10% mockery of my accent 3% apple theft references and 2% Dr Dolittle, as will shortly be explained.

Amidst the verbal warfare we had battles of another kind. Cats perpetually chasing frogs in the dense undergrowth, Gigasmethwick playing basketball with tin foil, blunt machete chops and a dying hedgehog. We were just starting on the glyco treatment when Kate found Terry (as she named him) Sonic, as I less imaginatively added, hobbling about near the water tap. Poor sod, he was suffering in the heat, and looked like he was going to die. I was enraged when I saw two Blow Flies laying eggs right on his eyelid. Mother nature is a cruel bitch sometimes.

We got him some water but he barely touched it. Kate picked him up and carried him over to the shade at the back of the plot, around the compost bins. We found some slugs for him to eat : at first he barely even touched them. His breathing was stertorous, as he limped along or just slumped on the ground. I picked off the eggs with a combination of twigs and shoots, they were really impacted around his eye, it was gutting. However when his claw extended and he pulled that slug into his skanky little chops and chewed away, it was something else. Procured some water and let him get on his way. Good luck little buddy!

I neglect to mention Snakeob had brought some beers and red wine, which went everywhere as my Pythons went to work on the cork...with a fork. I'm a poet, and boy don't I show it. Kate and I stayed a little while longer, as it grew cold. Talk of the ancients. Had a proper belly laugh when a fat pigeon flew into a tree just behind us and immediately snapped the branch it landed on, flying in the opposite direction as if to say 'Yeah, well I meant to do that! Haha!' A bit like falling over then making it look like you're tying your shoelaces. Pigeons are dorks.

Watch this space for more Parsley and Howard...I mean Parsley and Oregano adventures!

oooooh GLYCO!