The Good Life

It's Harvest Festival time of year. Bernie and Kieran have just finished their very own allotment harvest, and boy, there were a LOT of tomatoes. Summer hasn't been great, so some serious ripening has still to happen:

Eventually, green turned rosy, and then the fun begins:

There's been roasting of tray after tray of tomatoes, onions, basil, oregano, rosemary to make delicious passata:

And some of the green tomatoes got to live out their dream of making Mrs Beeton's chutney:

It's starting to feel like I'm living in an episode of The Good Life - Ber & K make a great Tom and Barbara. And I love the idea of me as Margot, swanning around Wood Green in kaftans, being fabulous and posh and a bit useless (although I'm not sure how the outfit will go down next time I nip down Morrisons to buy some bog roll).

I'm Digging That, Man

What a lovely day. Started off bright and breezy (that's what early nights can do - fascinating concept), and after a quick brekkie with B & K, I'm on my sewing machine again, getting on with the ever-expanding bunting empire (more of that in my next post...)

Get a call from Aussie Meg - I'm about to do a spot of flat-sitting at her place in Crouch End, so I need to get the lowdown on her pad's little foibles. Drive over to CE, and after dropping off my wares at The Haberdashery, I head over to Meg's place for a briefing. No rocket science required, so when Steve turns up (Meg's chap), they suggest we head off to the cricket field for a drink.

I've been to one cricket club in Crouch End, and I seem to remember it being a bit of a shed with a bit of grass attached. Turns out Crouch End has three cricket clubs (how very Middle England), and this one is lovely. Sadly, I'm driving, so a little booze is out of the question for me, which is a real shame - gorgeous, blue-sky and little fluffy clouds English summer's day. Perfect cider weather:

Steve, Meg, Sheila, Booze

I leave them to the cricket and sunshine and head back to Wood Green, as I know B & K are going over to their allotment for a fruitpicking stint. I'm a bit overexcited about this. Haven't been fruitpicking for donkeys. Dad used to pick blackberries every year so Mum could make jam when I was a kid and I was always chief assistant.

Their allotment is ace. I love it. Typically ramshackle as an allotment should be, it has all sorts of goodies sprouting up. Today's yield is blackcurrants and gooseberries:

That's NOT David Bellamy gwappling with the undergrowth

I always forget how many creepy crawlies you get when you do some proper gardening - this face says it all:

What the freak is THAT?

I get stuck into picking the gooseberries - hey have unfeasibly sharp thorns and I get scratched to fuck, if you'll pardon my language. But it's good to know that the pies and jam to come will all be coming from B & K's hard work and I've even been told I may get paid with a jar of my own in return for my picking skills:

Little and hairy (the gooseberries, not me)