A scant hour was all the time I had at the weekend for getting to the allotment. I did swither as to whether I should go, but I did, and was glad of it. By the time I walked there and back I had 40 minutes left for digging. The great blessing of this cold winter is that even the weeds have been stopped in their tracks, but that can't last much longer. So the obvious task to tackle first was the mess of dead, frosted red clover. It hasn't rained for weeks, and the withered plants were dry and stringy. But I dug and chopped and dug again, and cleared a patch that looks as if a bit of progress is being made.
The drought of March has broken at last, a little ahead of Chaucer's timing of 'Aprille with his shoures soote'. I'll bet those weeds are even now planning their takeover.
The clouds were low over Edinburgh yesterday, with a corrugated effect over the allotment site that I pass on my way to work. I thought they matched the corrugated iron that for some reason seems to collect on allotments. We're desperately trying to get rid of the stuff we inherited with our plot. I have decided that this will be the year that it goes. Watch this space.