I returned from holiday on Saturday turned on the TV and saw Jessica Ennis (with her Jamaican father) run the last 50 metres to win gold, followed by Greg Rutherford (escaping from Milton Keynes) out jump the world and then Mo Farrar ( a Somali refugee given haven in  Britain) ran his socks off in the Olympic stadium.

Of course we all know that our arm chair support was a crucial element of this great British success. We were all winners.


The big issue was what had happened to my allotment. Would this be another triumph for main crop potatoes brought to Britain by Drake? Would my tasty tomatoes ,that migrated from the Americas, get gold or would I win again with my melting in the mouth Mirabelle plums from Asia minor?   


Sunday was the big day, while everyone was watching Andy Murray's winning ways, I stealthily crept onto my allotment site even catching my fox by surprise as I opened the gate. All was the same but all was very different. The pathways were like the edge of jungle, but where were the paths?

No chance of some bureaucratic busybody waving a red flag and disqualifying me for not reducing and regimenting the size of my paths. There will be more on that furore next time.


Nasturtiums blazed across every open space as the lemon verbena, with its delicate summer scent, brushed my legs as I tentatively tiptoed forward. Rhubarb ruled the roost rather than hiding from the scorching sun, while the grass in my secret garden was ankle high still wet wet wet with the relentless rain. Yes anarchy reigned; the slugs and snail prospering under every plank and plant as the bind weeds and brambles sought to strangle and tear every competitor in sight.


What a joy it was to see the apples almost reaching ripeness, the marrow stems that were growing a foot a day, the hidden courgettes, the golden squashes, with the dwarf French beans begging to be picked. The Cherokee Trail of Tears were climbing to the heavens regally offering their purple flowers as gifts to the gods, while my District Nurse stood tall and offered health and happiness with her bountiful beans. It will be another opening ceremony to remember with relish!


All of this was my work, like the Olympics! If I had not returned when I did, what might have happened? I could glow in the reflected glory and celebrate success. Unlike the Olympics, there is no flag waving and no losers with Lottie; I don’t need to beat everyone the challenge is to eat everything. This is what makes coming home and Britain great.

We are all winners.

 

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