My head is melted. It is actually in a puddle on the floor. Somehow it feels like we are poorer now that Mr. Fairweather has a job. How did that happen? Maybe I am now paying too much attention to the budget and putting a bit aside or not as the case may be instead of just winging it. So where I used to go – there’s x amount coming in next week, I’ll spend it on timber for a project or fencing or plants or even splurge on a takeaway or something, instead I do the grown up thing and go, the car tax is due soon, or that wedding next week that we have to go to but don’t have any money for a wedding present to give. This grown up malarkey is really not all it’s cracked up to be.
But needs must so onwards we soldier. I picked up a bag of seed potatoes a while back – Sharpes Express. A pal fancies himself a potato expert and insists that British Queens are the only way to go. He’s welcome to buy me some Queens and I’ll sow them for him and conduct taste testing experiments. Otherwise I am going with what I have. What I don’t have is the muscle power to dig up the ground to plant the spuds. The site I have picked out for them is currently occupied by scutch grass, docks, creeping buttercup and thistles. A fetching combination that I have worked hard on let me tell you.
Fetching or not, it won’t grow spuds. However, what I do have, is a mountain of top soil from when the foundations were excavated. That would be much looser and easier to dig. But where would I put it?
Off I went to sweet talk the local farmer. Recently, there had been a big obstacle course organised locally as a fundraiser. Similar to Tough Mudder and Hell and Back. Various walls of bales, muddy banks, freezing cold streams and jumps greeted the participants. It was the old tyres used to make the jumps that I was interested in. They were all dumped in the yard beside the milking parlour when I spied them. The tyres? They’re no use. Take as many as you like he said. I’m not going to be greedy. I’ll take a dozen and collect them in batches. Why you may ask…
I am going to plant my spuds in tyres. I’ll stack another one on top as the leaves get higher and fill it with soil to mimic the earthing up. I think I’ll go three tyres high. That will give me four beds. The farmer thinks I am off my rocker and he may be right. Mr. Fairweather suggests popping additional seed potatoes in to each tyre as I build upwards. That way when the leaves have died back and I am knocking the tyres over to dig out my harvest, I’ll have a good mix of sizes – salad potatoes and big roasters and everything in between. What have I got to lose? I could turn out to be a genius. A labour saving genius.