Today I've had some help. A rather shamefaced sixteen year old boy who didn't do as well as he hoped in his GCSE's decided he might regain some brownie points with his mum if he gave me a hand. So the horrible job of wheeling home-made compost from our tiny weeny back garden up the hill to the allotment fell to him, as did the equally knackering one of digging out all the broad beans and weeds so that we could spread the compost over the top patch. He was a great help actually, I really appreciate it. I just wish it was for a different reason.

Last time we were at the allotment J had emptied out one of our two large plastic compost bins onto the edge of the top patch and it was interesting to compare compost from this to the stuff from home. The home stuff seems vastly superior, much richer and full of healthy looking worms. It makes sense I suppose, there's much more of a variety of kitchen peelings, egg boxes and green garden rubbish going into it. The allotment bins get filled with grass and weeds, although I do occasionally take shredded bank statements and loo roll inners up to add to the mixture. I'm sure cardboard is very good to keep it aerated.

I really do find compost a fascinating subject. I know it sounds weird but it's true! When we were all on a family holiday in Wales (in a tent, in the rain) we went to look around the wonderful Centre for Alternative Technology where we embarrassed our children by getting terribly excited by a compost exhibition. The boys thought it was awful that their parents could want to plunge their hands into different bins of it and sniff the various mixtures. However, I'm determined they're going to understand the value of making it even if they're at the wrong life stage to appreciate it at the moment. At least my family members of the ipod generation are going to know how to provide food for their families in the future even if at the moment it's not a priority for them.

Well, I suppose I'd better get down off my soap box and start cooking some of the lovely beans we brought home or we won't get any dinner. Yes I know the time on these blogs suggests I'm an an insomniac but I think it must mean American time, and I'm in England.
Happy gardening (and bean cooking)