Manual Labour

We shoved the trash container up the hill. After the hassle of bringing the garden waste to the bin it seemed a clever idea to bring the bin to the garden waste. While pushing the bin towards the allotment was infinitely easier than bothering with the wheelbarrow, which everyone on the allotment agrees is one wheel too short, I was beginning to feel concerned about the looks we were getting from the elderly pedestrian across the street. “We’re not stealing the rubbish” I shouted guiltily at her and continued pushing the bin up the hill into the allotment. After our sweaty workout, we dug up a small bed and planted a floral, spring bulb tribute to ourselves which you can see below.

Rachael single-handedly taming the compost heap.

Midway through digging our spring bulb bed next to the shed.

A floral tribute to Mother Nature consisting of Tulips and Daffodils (she'll have to wait until spring).
 

The Fellowship of the Bin

What is to be done, about the mountain of garden waste? Today the burning question of our allotment was answered… in a way that left everyone unsatisfied. To be specific our allotment was on one side of the site and the bin was on the other. Ordinarily these complaints about having to wheelbarrow rubbish slightly further than we would like would sound hysterical, but it has to be understood that the journey from allotment to bin was a perilous one. Obstacles such as stairs and archways too small to fit a wheelbarrow through littered the route. One foul step and garden waste would spew out from the wheelbarrow on to the path. I felt like Frodo venturing across the dead marshes. Like him, I had a terrible burden to cast away and was aided on my quest by a fellowship of misfits. Frodo however only had to make his journey once while my trip from allotment to bin would be one of many.

The growing mound of doom.

Our Band of Merry Misfits.

Garden of Weeden

For about five minutes we stare, exasperated at the compost bin. It’s an odd mix of soil, weeds, plastic bags, crisp packets and eggshells. The latter three are not renowned for promoting plant growth. If they did, my kitchen would resemble the Garden of Eden by now. It becomes apparent that something should be done about this situation, so Matt and I set about filtering out the unwanted rubbish from the pile of degrading compost. We then proceed to dump it on to the growing mountain of garden waste. There is still a degree of uncertainty over where this rubbish is ultimately going to end up, although we all agree that it will be deposited in a bin of sorts… somewhere. While Matt and I are having compost fun, the other two members of our party: Wes and Fatima, are busy de-weeding another bed. After some intense soil rummaging, the group is assured by their leader, Matt, of a solution to the bin crisis. I am also delighted by the promise of re-enforcements in the form of pole dancers. This naturally perks the group up and turns out be one of the most productive days yet.

Working hard under the shadow of the giant heap of waste.

Is there any compost under there?