Sunday's worm transplant

We returned well laden from a trip to Lucy’s and Pete’s) (Matt’s sister and her husband) in the Cotswolds. The un-seasonable midsummer weather that didn’t deter us from midsummer gatherings which included:

1. 1kg goosegogs from Lucy and Pete’s garden (I think that Pete is mainly responsible for the garden)
2. 18 eggs from Pete’s mum Lorna
3. 2kg of cherries that I forgotten that we’d bought from a food market at a conservation charity's property 
4. 4 tomato plants (also from Pete’s garden)
5. 1 bag of worm dense compost from Pete’s compost bin

(keep an eye out on Slack Lasagne for updates on items 1, 2 and 3)

Maturing bright lights chard

We also nearly came home with some with rhubarb until I pointed out to Pete that what he thought was rhubarb was actually swiss chard variety rhubarb red. I was slightly embarrassed in pointing this out given Pete’s agricultural credentials but since I am having success with my swiss chard variety bright lights and there would be little space in our courtyard garden for more of this type of crop.

We had purchased a wormery online back in March but as yet had been insufficiently organised to acquire the worms that were needed to power it. The system is that you set up your wormery and then order the worms by mail order once their home is prepared. We saved up peelings etc on a number of occasions over the last few months and never got around to ordering said worms so ended up discarding the waste in the normal way when we couldn’t stand the smell any more.

This weekend I was on a mission since the company we had purchased the wormery from was Cotswold based and I had a plan to collect some worms in person. So I left an answerphone message on Saturday morning with my request. For the rest of Saturday I was very excited every time that my phone (or indeed anyone else’s’ since I have a popular ring tone) rang. But come the afternoon I was so desperate for a nap that I turned it off for an hour. When I awoke I had an answerphone message myself and my dreams of worms were shattered. Apparently the worms are dispatched from Yorkshire.

Fortunately Pete came to the rescue and told us all about how his compost bin was full of worms. I was a bit wary because I know that you’re supposed to use a special type of worm.

A camera shy worm

So I did a quick search of the interweb search for an image of an appropriate worm. I shared this with Pete who assured me that his were the right type of worm. It’s a shame that there’s not some home worm DNA sequencing test to check their pedigree but I was happy to give it a go.

Worm extraction

So on Sunday morning Matt, my husband, helped Pete extract some worm rich compost and package it; we all hoped they would survive the 130 mile trip southwest-wards. Matt and I stopped off for a bit of cheeky department store shopping on the way home so the worms’ welfare was in even more peril.

It was with great anticipation that I unpacked the worms from their sack into the wormery. The first test of the enterprise had been passed as the worms had travelled apparently unscathed. Now all that remains to be seen is whether they are the right sort of worm and start making lots of lovely worm juice for us.

Initiating the wormery

House design makes the
wormery look nice in the garden

The wormery after a feeding

While I was in the garden I harvested our first home grown salad of baby spinach and rocket, to go with our toasted sandwiches. It was a good job that I investigated the rocket as it had become water-logged. It wasn’t until last week when I planted some strawberries that I knew anything about making holes in the lining of hanging baskets. So today I urgently tipped off the water from the rocket basket (this has made me think about growing watercress next year) and pricked a load of holes in it with an extended craft knife (this was the only thing I could find that was pokey enough to get through the hanging basket). Hopefully I have averted potential rocket failure – from this perspective at least – I did have to launch a number of snails over the garden wall and I fear that these may be my greatest challenge.

Sunday's strawberries

I must say that I’m rather pleased with the things I’ve planted in the garden. After the disappointment of losing so many seedlings while we were on holiday it was an uncommon pleasure seeing the mange tout peas and the dwarf beans popping out from their troughs.

And it surely won’t be long now until we’re harvesting rocket and baby spinach leaves from their respective hanging baskets. Three out of the four courgette seeds that I planted straight into a pot germinated and have healthy looking leaves (which leaves me with the dilemma of what to do with two of them as I’ve been informed that you can only have one courgette plant per pot – how do I choose which one to leave alone?). And my mini squashes are going from strength to strength. The tomato plants that my mum kindly brought (although they don’t replace my own deceased seedlings) are maturing a bit in the cold frame. I have been informed that I must resist transplanting them into hanging baskets until their pots are full of roots, so they get a daily inspection.

I had a scare with my chillies last weekend when I thought that in the brief spell of hot weather I had managed to scorch them to death in the mini greenhouse but they seem to have revived.

On a floral note I’ve managed to pick (well, cut with the kitchen scissors) a decent bunch of sweet peas to give to a friend and my Californian poppies are on the brink of flowering. 




None of my newly potted flower plants that I put in the front garden have died or been stolen and there are even some rose buds appearing. On the down side my sunflower hasn’t germinated (obviously not enough sun) and the wildflower seed that I sprinkled over the gravel out the front seems to have been defeated by weeds (unless the wildflower seed was actually weed seed). I’m not totally clear on what the definition of a weed is because some of what my mother disparagingly says are weeds actually look quite pretty.

As a bonus, the Christmas tree that we felt sure was dead seems to have found a new lease of life.

Despite all this relative success (I hope I haven’t spoken too soon) one regret persisted. I had no strawberries plants. My mum had told me a couple of weeks ago when they were visiting that I was too late to do strawberries so I did my best to move on. But their absence in my garden was hammered home yesterday when I saw a neighbour’s hanging basket full of them and the beginnings of some fruit. But fortuitously on the very same day my mum had some good news for me. During a phone call she randomly mentioned that she had read in the paper last week that it wasn’t too late to plant strawberries. I was on a mission now; if I didn’t get these plants today then I would definitely have missed my chance, the next few weekends being full of other things so the garden would not be a priority. My mum didn’t sound that optimistic though: she wasn’t sure that I would be able to source strawberries at the point in the season and even if I did she wasn’t sure they’d be economically viable.

So I planned my afternoon carefully. It would start with a trip to the dump as Matt, my husband, had prepared a car-full of junk from the roof (from previous inhabitants) for me to get rid of. Then I had in mind a route round various local garden centres based on a combination of convenience (it being a Sunday I had limited time before they would shut) and value.

The trip to the dump was, if anything, even more satisfactory than usual. I think the slightly drizzly weather reduced the number of visitors (this is based on anecdotal evidence only, when it’s sunny the dump seems to be rammed) so I had several men in fluorescent jackets assisting me with my disposal. Plus it was more straightforward than usual because everything was designated as “general household” so I didn’t even have to navigate around the various skips.

The first garden centre (or more technically a bit of everything centre) was both the most convenient and, I estimated, the best value. My luck was clearly on the up as available to me were 6 strawberry plants for £3.99. This did seem like good value, although I suppose I can’t really judge this until I’ve tasted the results. The purchase was not straightforward however. There were three different varieties: Honeoye, Elsanta and Pegasus – the description on the labels being remarkably similar. I had no idea which to choose and I knew that my mum was by now uncontactable (she hasn’t totally embraced the concept of the mobile phone). I tried to get some advice from the interweb but couldn’t find anything particularly useful. Lots of websites told me that strawberries are good in hanging baskets; but no websites told which strawberries are particularly good. I ruled out Elsanta as I know this is what you mainly get in shops and wanted to try something different. I wasn’t sure how to pronounce Honeoye, so this left Pegasus. I felt happy with this selection, Pegasus also being the name of a bridge in Normandy that Matt and I had enjoyed a visit to 3 years ago.

It was a good job that I hadn’t planted those tomatoes up after all as the hanging baskets that had been reserved for them would now be deployed for strawberries. I did a bit of hanging basket rearrangement in the garden to make sure that the strawberries would get the sunniest spot possible – hopefully this won’t be too much to the detriment of the rocket and baby spinach – and introduced the strawberry plants to their new home.

When I spoke to my mum this evening she seemed reasonably impressed – most likely at what seems to have been a bit of a strawberry plant bargain and also that I followed some instructions in terms of planting them shallowly. She advised that I give them some tomato feed. What ensued was my first ever plant science lesson:

• phosphorous makes roots
• potassium makes fruits
• nitrogen makes leaves

Apparently tomato feed is rich in potassium. Mum couldn’t explain to me the plant biochemistry that makes this so, but I feel inspired to find out. Watch this space…..

Saturday's team buidling

I’m not sure who’s idea the team building was in the first place but it’s taken a number of months, if not nearing a year (if I really wanted to find out I could review the minutes of our team meetings) for us to get around to doing it.  We tend to work more with other teams across our organisation than with people within our team so the rationale was that we should all get to know each other a bit better as the only things we do all together otherwise are the aforementioned team meetings and a yearly gathering at Christmas (a very seasonable curry last year).

We agreed in principle that we would do something together but the details took a while to fall in to place. Suggestions for the event included:

• Tree surfing – vetoed by most of those aged over 50
• All you can eat buffet competition – no-one actually owned up to suggesting this. Quite how it would be team building eludes me but there was apparently a t-shirt for the winner
• Bread making – not met with a great deal of enthusiasm

Then I got an email from WaterAid. Matt, my husband, and I had done a sponsored walk of part of the South West Coast Path for them a few years ago and this time they were recruiting for teams to climb 200 peaks across the country. I suggested this at one of our legendary team meetings and everyone seemed to think that this was a pretty good idea. So I signed us up to climb our most local “mountain” Sheepstor.  

Then we all forgot about it for a while.

As the day neared I thought that perhaps we should sort out the logistics. I checked our team page on the website and found that, despite repeated invitations to “join my team”, very few of the team had thus far signed up. The walkers included my boss, me and 2 others. So I had to do a bit of motivation – the lure of a free t-shirt should do it. The week before the event we were up to 6 signed up which was adequate numbers and, in my opinion, a reasonable personality mix. I sensitively collated t-shirt six requests and placed my order.

We also began some publication of our “climb” across the teams that we work with in an effort to raise (or exceed) the £400 sponsorship target the WaterAid set. A couple of us did a bit of promotion via social media and we distribute sponsor forms to the noticeboards of the other teams that we work with. This was met with much hilarity in some locations because as far as sponsored events go this would not be the most challenging (one colleague is about to embark upon a Lands End to John-O-Groats cycle ride) but our walk was for a good cause, people are generous and the forms started to fill up a bit.

All that was left to do was to hope for fine weather and sort out the final arrangements for the day. Most importantly this included planning catering. The consensus was that we should have a pub lunch rather than a picnic (I think that was everyone’s preference apart from mine and I am aware that I am uncommonly fond of a picnic). We agreed to meet at 10.30am and I sent round an email confirming details, including the route map, emergency instructions (anyone would think we were attempting the North Face of the Eiger) and reminding people to bring:

• A drink +/- some snacks – I had made some “Paradise Slice” the night before for us to refuel on
• Sensible footwear (including socks due to my perceived risk of ticks this was after all Sheepstor)
• A hat and sunscreen (the weather forecast was looking good)
• Games / activities with which to augment the walk

I drove up from Plymouth with 4 others. From an environmental point of view this was particularly pleasing to me. We stopped off at, Helen’s, the last pick-up-point to adorn ourselves with our t-shirts. As you might expect from a carful of women the talk on the way up was mostly about men, we would save the more refined topics for the walk itself – our boss (the only man on the walk) would have to contend with a group of chattering women as it was so we could at least improve matters for him by chattering about something he might be able to join in with.

We arrived only a few minutes after the planned rendezvous which was good going considering as we’d spent a good few minutes meeting Helen’s lovely cat Coco.

I had been uncommonly organised and printed off a copy of the suggested route. Unfortunately, upon arrival, I found that I had left this at home. Fortunately, I had packed a map of Dartmoor and due to the wonders of modern mobile technology was able to download the suggested route so between those we should be able to work it out. Unfortunately the suggested route map was both tiny and rubbish, and very difficult to see on my phone screen in the bright light anyway. The Dartmoor map was rather aged so it was difficult to make out which path we were actually on, plus it was very windy so was difficult to keep the map under control. In the end we just sort of made up our own route (it wasn’t until we were well in to the walk that I realised that I could also have used the satellite tracking on my phone improve this process). This did actually include a bit of climbing to get to the top of the tor. This was where I was most glad of my sensible footwear although I think everyone else was most glad of it due to all the various animal poo (some of which we could identify) on our chosen paths.

 

There were actually sheep at Sheepstor

We had a really lovely time, and I don’t think that I’m just speaking for myself. The conversation flowed freely and most people chatted for a bit of time with most others. As well as animal poo we talked about pubs, gardening and lots of other things and we all sat quietly enthralled and snacking (fruit and jelly sweets as well as the Paradise slice) whilst our boss told us about his time in Saudi Arabia – much more adventurous than the rest of us put together.  I think we all enjoyed finding out a bit more about each other and would say that we fulfilled our team building objective. We didn’t even need to enhance the walk with any of the games; which was probably a good thing as I think that there might have been a big injury risk had we deployed the ball that I had brought and / or the blind folds that Amy had brought (for three legged races and blind pairs) up a windy tor.

The team at the summit of Sheepstor

As well as the sunshine we were lucky with the visibility: the view from the top was magnificent and we all took a turn looking through our boss’s binoculars back towards the city, as well as admiring the nearby reservoir.

View of Burrator Reservoir

We were ready for our pub lunch by the time we got there and our boss kindly got us all some liquid refreshment. As I wasn’t the designated driver I couldn’t partake of the rather lovely still cider that most of my friends were drinking but a taste was enough to encourage me to return to this venue with someone else as the designated driver on a future occasion. Over lunch we started planning future team building exercises which might include a trip to a theme park or a water park. That really would be pushing it asking for sponsorship.

In the car home we reverted to our very first topic of conversation: men. Fuelled by the rather lovely cider (and maybe the team building) the talk amongst my friends was slightly more graphic than on the way up.

The team building would continue for a few of us later on a night out to some of Plymouth’s numerous waterside drinking establishments. I enjoy getting dressed up and putting some make-up on from time-to-time and this would be an ideal opportunity. The evening started with a quick drink at mine where I cracked open the duty free vodka that I had brought back from holiday.

Charlotte had this with fizzy apple juice while Helen and I had a cocktail of vodka, elderflower cordial and tonic water. Helen noted that it was a shame that we didn’t have some cherries to improve these further and I duly produced the cherries in spirit that have been in my fridge just waiting for such an occasion. The concoction was delicious.

We met up with Amy and her boyfriend for a little while before they headed off for a curry, Charlotte and I headed off for a cider and Helen headed off to meet someone else for a bit. It was great to have a natter with someone who I don’t natter with enough. We gave Helen the requested 45 minute rescue call but she wasn’t coming back to us fast so I helped Charlotte across the cobbles (a reflection on the shoes she was wearing not the amount that she had drunk) and we settled ourselves outside another bar for another drink.

I enjoyed watching the mating behaviour of the people of Plymouth on a night out and very felt lucky not to have to be actively involved in it. Helen eventually joined us again – one of her skills is clearly getting the attention of men and there were some choice / hilarious / pathetic chat up lines which unfortunately elude me as I write. This may indeed be evidence that alcohol impairs your memory.

Fortunately my faculties weren’t too impaired and I was able to ensure I had enough cash for a taxi home and was completely able to remember where home was as well as indulging in some small talk with the taxi driver. And I even had the foresight to have some toast with my favourite yeast extract and a big glass of water before retiring to bed.

Hopefully this’ll the first of many enjoyable team building days.

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