Contrast .

Having had enough of snails , slugs and hard slog , for a little while at least , we went to London today .
I bought two new dresses .
Black ,  since you ask and two pairs  of roman style sandals .

 Later coffee , cold water and cigarettes in the shady garden of the coffee shop beside St James , Piccadilly . There is a fountain there with two stone cherubs throwing water at one another . Sensible plan in the heat .

I'm going to pair the dresses and sandals with a slick of lipstick and a squirt of scent and sass  a bit .
How do people cope without contrasts in their lives I wonder .

Of high heels and manure .

I realise from my New York friend that allotments are not universal .

An allotment site is usually owned by the local authority . It is divided into plots . These plots are rented by the year to local individuals . They are to grow fruit and / or vegetables or keep bees or chickens on .

It is a very old fashioned system . The plots are measured in "rods" . Either 5 or 10 rod per person . A rod is a medieval measurement . It is the distance from the front of the oxen to the ploughman at the back of the plough .

In the second world war they were a valuable food source and many people took one on and became part of the " dig for victory " campaign . Various people in my family have had allotments . They are part of our history .

I imagine one or two of them were looking down today when I was at the plot . I had yet another shopping trolley full of carpet and bricks and tools .

They will be sitting in a celestial bar somewhere , helpless with laughter at the high heels and lipstick girl in dirty dungarees discussing the merits of various manures and what is the superior shit .

Sex and the shopping trolley .

A bit of lateral thinking .
I needed to smother about half a tennis court's worth of weeds at the plot .

I got a large shopping trolley from the nearest supermarket and pushed it to the local carpet shop . I assumed that they took the " old " carpet away when they fitted a new one .
They did and had to pay someone to take the old ones  .

I and the saxophonist filled the trolley with rolls of carpet and pushed it all the way to the plot .

We rolled the carpets out and anchored them with bricks . This leaves a smaller piece to plant for now .

Pushing the laden trolley down kerbs , up hills and then across the grass , especially in the full sun ,  is not for the feint hearted .

We took turns and I watched  the saxophonist force the trolley across the grass  .
I thought  "I love you in my bed but this is also an act of love and I am a lucky woman ."

Vinegar and a golden key .

It has been over a month since I applied for an allotment .
 The town clerk dealing with same is legendary for her vinegar at best and her venom at worst . She has not just moved the goal posts she has chopped them up and set light to them .

I am no good at being patient when I have an idea I want to come to fruition . I knew that a response of any warmth would give her the reason to put me off till after Christmas .

As far as she knew I had lost interest and walked off .
This did the trick .
Today at the breakfast table there was a fat envelope next to my place . When I opened it there was a sheath of papers and from these fell a small brown sealed " pay packet "envelope . I left the paperwork and gingerly opened the envelope  .

Out fell a fat gold key and yes , it did glint in the sunlight .

In the cool of the early evening we slowly walked the long green corridor between the two gates roofed with beach leaves and the squawk of starlings .
I put the key in the lock of the second huge gate . I turned it very slowly ,  savouring the moment .
The gate gave a satisfying clank .


 Serenity seems to seep out of the soil . It felt like another country . Along the little paths , here sweetcorn , there two hives and their buzzing bees , here fat pods of peas and there a coop with two clucking chickens  .

And here's the plot . Rhubarb , raspberries , strawberries and blackberry bushes . A table and chairs all wrought with bind weed .

There's so much to do . Rough grass , bind weed  and thistles too . I am half in love with it already .

Then , unbidden a man emerges from the plot next door . I tell him bout my plan to smother the weeds and he offers a tarpaulin and an old carpet from home .

Another toy figure is across the site . He approaches and turns into another ( full sized ) plot holder . We stand in the sun and chat .

I go back to my plot . The first man is going home . As he goes he calls over " don't worry , it will be fine , mine looked like that to start with  ."

In this short visit I have made two more human connections . I have walked land I can call my own .
I have stood tall in all the burgeoning green rows smiling at the saxophonist . It is sunny and I am now the proud inheritor of two wheel barrows and a shed .

I know that this is going to be a summer of bramble thorns tattooing my body  .
 I know that my legs will be like lead from the digging  .

But there are times when you just know you are in the right place - and I am .

Plot and plan .

We painted and my cousin put together a cold frame in our garden on Sunday evening .  And then we went to the pub  obviously .

Yesterday we went to London . Lunch in China Town . Portrait of a lady by Alesso Baldovinetti ( room 59 ) at the national gallery .A bit of girlie shopping . Longchamp in the sales and then flowing trousers and cropped stripped tee shirts to wear round the house .

So today was the day to site the frame . A slow ponderous rain came down in disconcerting isolated plops . We were mid way through and then it bucketed . The saxophonist knows I will see things through and we were wet anyway .

We dug out bricks from here and collected them from there . Dug out the space and I laid a brick floor .The saxophonist tipped the puddles off the frame and impressively lifted it high and in . ( The top is a heavy old Victorian glazed window ) .

It looks very professional and it will enable me to grow from seed and plant out at the allotment .

We admired it and then each other . The saxophonist had mud smears wrist to shoulder . I had thick mud splashes ankle to thigh .We looked like half hearted mud wrestlers or incompetent body artists .

I anticipate that there will be a lot more satisfying foolishness to come .

A hot bath  and now  umbrella's akimbo to the pub to discuss more senseless satisfaction I think  .

Rain and promise .

A rainy Friday and I put on my raincoat and cap and head out for a three o clock rendezvous . I arrive early and realise there are school gates nearby .

Various older men walk up and four times I am convinced that a man is the one I'm after . I smile and step  forward . Each man smiles back and goes on toward the school gates to pick up their child .
I resolve to stop smiling at random men , feeling sure that a teacher will come out and have a word with me if I do not desist .

My phone goes off . It is Alan . He has been waiting at the another gate . He tells me to stop put and that he will come to me .

Alan arrives and unlocks  tall ornate iron gates and in we go .

The place is so green and tranquil .He leads me along little green paths and there we are .

I am shocked . I expected the plot to be overgrown after eighteen months left to itself . I did not expect this . Buried and half buried things form mounds under grass and trailing weeds .
I trip over what turns out to be a raised bed . Alan trips over a handle and pulls out a scythe .

There is a strawberry bed in addition to however many raised beds . There is sturdy seating and a shed .Pull back the weeds and there are two wheel barrows , two watering cans , a potting bench and various tools .
The shed  is for the moment locked so who knows what's in there .

The previous incumbent has officially quit the site and has until a certain date to remove any of his property he still wants . After that date anything on the allotment becomes legally mine .

The tools and so forth do not motivate me though . There are ripe strawberries , a raspberry cane and a blackberry hedge .The plot has promise and the summer is coming on . We will see .

Stranger on the shore .

Went blond again last night . Went to see some Edward Bawden and some Eric Ravilious today .

I had the need to mark my territory again . It's been a while since I was in a gallery . It always washes me clean and reinforces my values about what matters in life .

I needed to get to the way I generally look too . Lately I have been staid with brown hair . Staid for me that is .With some people it looks luscious , for me it always feels like the party is in the next room .

What's my point ?
Well we are now nine weeks into being without a car . We have made great swathes of progress and moved on . Yes, I can see how far we have come .
 However , I woke up several mornings this week with the sun shining in a huge arch over the day .
 I felt like a traitor and an ungrateful traitor at that . I wanted to throw on my linen dress and strap on my sandals and run towards an ocean .

If I cannot do that then I need to say to myself that I am all that I ever was and that the beach will keep. I need to feel good about the way I look . I need the consolations , excitement and joy of great art .

This life is so different. There is so much of it that is good . I have great gratitude that we can share it and I am now on my way to not being hair trigger about the saxophonist .

This life is so different and is gradually getting worn in so that it feels like a favourite old coat and not a stiff new one .

The feeling I'm trying to pin down is this .
 It's as if I am strolling down the street and suddenly see that old lover . Forbidden fruit if you like . And , and just for a few seconds I picture myself languorous and naked in his arms .

I am faithful to the saxophonist and always have been but if I was going to have an affair it would be with a deserted stormy beach .