Allotment Soup – The Plot Thickens

Allotment Soup- Sunday 23rd October

A trip to Norwood Allotments would require a £4.30 Day Saver and a 40 minute bus journey.

Pete wasn’t convinced.

“I said I’d go so Ill go.  But I think we should just get chips.” he sulked.

Sometimes it’s like being best friends with Holden Caulfield.

Serendipity offered Polly emerging like a sunbeam from Primark as a welcome tonic to Pete’s reticence.  We cuffed, bound and bundled her onto the number 76  and rode off in search of Allotment Soup.

(†) Polly once advised me that even if a blog is terrible, she’ll still scan through it if there are pretty pictures.    In honour of this sentiment, I present to you a photo-journal that whilst largely temporally inaccurate, will hopefully offer some Tumblresque eye candy regardless.

15.30pm It wasn't the easiest place to find on a whim but the sweat of the hill was worth the vista. These few acres felt like the last remaining rags of pre-industrial Sheffield, lovingly held captive by the plot owners. Pinned to the 21st century by wicker arches and canes, and weighted down by an assortment of raggedy greenhouses, it made for a patchwork of happily chaotic construction.

15.35pm Newly built Eco-Loos inspected. Good to know that by shaking your lettuce, you can help cabbages grow.

15.50pm Whittled apples + gnarled tree trunks + bunting = strong possibility that you've stumbled into an Enid Blyton novel. That's maths.

15.55pm Appropriately, there was a liquid ton of soup available. I stuck with the 50p apple pie.

16.20pm This is a lady making a bike-powered smoothie with Abundance's foraged fruit. A fantastic idea. Turns out it makes quite lumpy smoothie though.

16.30pm Fortune smiled at us once again. Typically we'd arrived too late to take a guided tour. Nancy heroically stepped in to give us an endearing and impromptu run-around

This is a scarecrow. A more hellish scarecrow you're unlikely to meet. Apparently he's intended to deter young'uns up to no good. High-vis is, afterall, the hoodie's kryptonite. Incidentally this was the 'her' of a 'his and hers' pair of allotments. Having several intervening allotments is the key to a happy marriage.

This is a close-up of Barnaby the scarecrow. Not, as previously suggested, your author.

18.00 Night began to fall. With the twilight and a tremble of the earth, Madame Zucchini hauled herself from beneath a nearby patch of brambles into the performance clearing; a temperamental though awe-inspiring creature of the plot.

18.10pm Best described as a tyrannical entertainer, Zucchini led us through 'the vegetable alphabet' with an iron first (kudos Polly, for very adamantly shouting 'Zuchini'). In an iconic move destined to cement Zucchinni in the collective Norwood mindset, she at one point threw a paper bag at a disruptive child.

Contrary to popular opinion, it's not often that I see a woman up to her elbow in an anthropomorphic marrow. I swiftly succumbed to Stockholme Syndrome. The show culminated in 'Harry Potter and the Cabbage of Doom', a Pinter-esque reintepretation wherein each vegetable puppet gradually lost their eyes. Pete mused that it was possibly one of the best pieces of post-alternative comedy that he has ever had the pleasure of witnessing.

This is Polly about to throw a sprout at Madame Zucchini.

This is what we did with Madame Zucchini after her act... Not true. Or is it? No, we didn't. They're jacket potatoes.


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