Well the husband had his wicked way with me yesterday. Before you start, his idea of wicked involved a fork, some gardening gloves. seven vegetable beds and a whole load of weeds, some of which fell into 'Triffid' territory. I had gone over to the allotment alone, as the husband had some other jobs to do. Having interrogated him on his return, this appeared to have been driving from job to job and shouting at people. But at least he turned up. By that time I had dug over two and half beds and was looking a bit like Mrs Overall, bent over like a cheap hairgrip, my fork hanging limply by my side.
'Have you bought a rake with you?' I asked him. I had to shout at him as the direction of my face (parallel with the mud) made voice projection impossible.
'A rake? No. Tell you what, I'll go back home and get one, and while I'm there I'll bring you a lovely cup of tea'.
Oh great, so he headed off home again, leaving me to do more digging. By now, I was was lying across the earth, muttering at the weeds, ineffectually dabbing at them with my fork as their prickly leaves fought back. The husband was gone for some time (how long does it take to collect a rake and fill a flask for heaven's sake?), but eventually turned up with everything, including a piece of machinery on the back of his trailer.
'I went and got the rotivator', he shouted. 'It'll make this so easy'.
Oh great, just as I finished my fourth bed, now he finds something to make digging them easier. I did mull over hitting him over the head with my Thermos and burying him in one of my beautifully hand-dug beds, but thought better of it. I might have wanted another cup of tea you see.
So I took to the picnic table, nursing a mug of tea and two buttocks who were hurling abuse at each other and watched him dig over the remaining three beds with his machine, going up and down with his bumpy rotivator with a smile on his face. Seventeen minutes it took him. SEVENTEEN MINUTES.... It had taken me nearly three hours to do my beds. Three hours, four blisters, several nasty looking bugs and some serious damage done by some feral thistles.
But hey, I bet my parsnips will be better than his potatoes...