Pumpkins are go!

At last the pumpkins are in the ground! After weeks of sweating in the greenhouse of the Tidbury Turnip, and a few more in my garden, the big boys have their feet in the mud. We built a mound comprised of soil and manure (gold, pure gold!) and sank the plants into its rank belly.

To protect the fragile leaves from the elements (and so they can get a sweat on), we then encased them in a netted tunnel of green and then esconced that within a tent of clear plastic: a mystery wrapped in an enigma. Ace.

The number one enemy of the Allotment of Champions (slugs) seemed to sense that fresh meat had been dropped into the virgin soil, and immediately began an attack. I speared a couple with a fork in front of the others, as a warning, but still they came, wave upon wave.

Luckily, Gavin had bought some slug pellets from Waitrose, so if any of the little bastards try anything now they're in for a whole world of hurt. Word is bond.

(Artist's impression of harvest-time at the AOC)