THE GUNSITE ALLOTMENT, AS SEEN THROUGH THE EYES OF MRS BUN
- ninaofthewalshclan
- Mar 2
- 2 min read
FROM MRS BUN’S ALLOTMENT DIARY AND THE CULINARY CAPERS OF FELIX & PI
The middle classes wear their plot numbers with virtue, parading their bio- dynamically grown artichokes as they jump into their duel fuel 4-wheel drives and head home via Waitrose to pick up the condiments. Most have gardens big enough to grow substantial amounts of sustenance if they were truly desperate, with green houses and potting sheds to boot. Instead they dutifully allow their fertile gardens to ‘re-wild’ into glorious meadows in order to provide for the insects. Meanwhile, the peasants sit and wait for several years to obtain a small parcel of land that was once a legal right of the common people to cultivate food in order to feed their family. The grazing of livestock now outlawed, of course and the provision of food banks to ease their wait.
Something is wrong here and needs to change. In these days of obscene inflation, supply chain breakdown and incoming food shortages is it not time the criteria for allotment allocation is reviewed, based on income and genuine need?
The irony of our weekly delivery of Royal horse shit from the Palace says it all and the folk who govern what’s left of this ‘common land’ have so much time on their hands that they are more concerned in legislating rules and restrictions on what fruit trees can be planted, how high they can grow and how much fun is allowed. The better worked plots being privately passed around these ‘decision makers’ before they even make it onto the waiting list of available rods.
I have always felt so grateful to have my little piece of this green and pleasant isle to grow food and have freshly cut flowers on the table, to escape the clutches of a greedy polluted city but now my own circumstances have changed.
I moved away to the countryside, cut my rent in half and have somehow found myself working the walled vegetable garden in a glorious Elizabethan manor house that the gardeners no longer maintain, providing food for the small community who live here. My humble yet beautiful dwelling in the grounds of the manor came with no garden so I was allocated a mostly shady spot of piled rubble, chalk and flint that sits raised behind the carpark. This I have transformed into a magic wonderland for my dog, Binky, and I to privately enjoy in harmony with the frogs, lizards and birds. The occasional wafts of muck spreading from the neighbouring farm and road noise, mostly large agricultural vehicles, are the least of my concerns.
Once again, I am grateful.
Mrs Bun is back in business xx.
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