Party at the plot

Prosecco vs. Ground Bees

You are at the allotment, you’ve been working hard, you’ve caught up with all the gossip from the other gardeners. Then someone offers you a glass of wine. Wow, this is excellent. We chat more. Should that new allotment-holder have rotovated the ground with all this bind-weed? No, we all agree. Another glass? OK.

After this spontaneous affair you really must decide to go home now. Because if you decide to carry on gardening you may regret it. You feel the urge to go thin the carrots. You approach the bed, bend down and get your earring caught in the nets. You catch your breath, stumble and end up rolling around and crushing your precious carrots. You are stuck in the nets like a endangered species that Green Peace would be proud to rescue.

You can’t get up, everyone has gone home and there’s no service on your mobile. Then it dawns on you that you could be trapped here all night. You fear hyperthermia and you also realize that those cute ground bees you had recently marveled at were twelve inches from your nose.  You had only just harped on about how blessed you were that the bees had set up home in your raised bed. After the first glass you made it sound like you were the chosen one.

You sounded like an idiot, on refection. Anaphylactic shock might be the punishment. The discovery of your rigid body covered in snail trails and bloated bee-stung face would frighten the toughest of crime-scene investigators. You notice red kites too, circling above eyeing you up for carrion. Are your eyes their first course?

You are fool to stumble about the allotments without due care and attention. Allotments can be dangerous places. So keep the wine or pimms or whatever for the safety of your lovely garden at home, where there’s a phone and other people. End of lesson.

five legged cat
How many glasses of pimms? How many legs on that cat?

This was a Health and Safety Announcement.

2 thoughts on “Party at the plot”

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A blog about my gardening exploits to inspire, even if its looking like its all about go wrong. (Which it does, alot)

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