Not the poor, watered down French version of the mighty Cappuccino you understand, but the Dahlia. Solely by means of this mightily beautiful cultivar, have I come full circle. Once a stern anti-dahlia gardener, to my current, rather overenthusiastic status of allotment-booming, dahlia fan. As a cut flower, dahlias are second to none. Generous, and at this time of the year, simply invaluable. Especially, Café au Laif. In all it’s beige peachiness, it’s one of the best to grow. Wonderful in a vase, with bright summery colours, soft pastels or alluring autumnal hues.

I keep skipping up to my plants, bowl at the ready and fingers eager to get picking. However, when I get there I find virtually every ripe one has been mauled.

What’s wrong with my tender perennials which used to be the top target? Why the tomatoes? Is this a new breed of gourmand snails, an import from France? Finally, this morning I’d had enough. I salvaged a tiny handful of vaguely decent fruit and then dug up all the plants.

I know when I’m beaten.

…why do we bother trying to grow lemons in the cool, grey climate of the UK? Let’s face it they don’t even look that great growing in their native lands.

Is it our typically British hankering for the memories of balmy, beachside holidays on the Med that cause this temporary insanity?

Lemon trees are spiky, temperamental and our last one had some kind of nasty white mould. It was literally painful to move from inside to outside and back again and we never saw a single lemon.

I resolve to simply enjoy them sliced in my gin and tonic.

It is also one of those plants that twines itself around its supporting stem in an anti-clockwise direction – honeysuckle, for example, goes clockwise.There is a theory, although not one based entirely in science, that if you unwind the bindweed and twist it the other way around said supporting stem it will be so discombobulated that it will utter a despairing cry and perish.

This may, or may not, be true. I have no idea but would be very interested to hear whether it actually works.

I am not holding my breath.

was an accident a couple of years ago- well, I had
dug up plants before the frost to keep alive inside over winter. Only
trouble was, it took so long to warm up outside next year that plants were
already flowering, and I had runner beans some 2 months earlier than ever
before!

The cool, wet summer this year has been bad for vegetables, but I
had beans inside in July.

Pollination can be a problem – beans need Bumblebees; I leave one door open
every day, next to which is a bee-plant like comfrey or Viper’s Bugloss.

I did not mean to grow a potato. At least, not this potato.

I meant to compost this potato, which, when last we met, was a small and skanky object rolling about in the back corner of the veg drawer. It, obviously, had other plans for its future. Aspirations. Dreams, even. And who am I to stand in the way of potatoesque self-expression?

Especially when it means I can have my compost and eat it too, in the form of bonus potatoes.

Which makes compost better than cake.

Though not, of course, in all respects.