Into The land Of Carmel

I'm knackered. My right shoulder aches, right in the middle. Not as bad as tooth ache, but persistent and annoying just the same. I once described this in great detail to an ortho, and was told the pain was most likely due to holding back a punch. I've always rather liked that (wholly facetious) explanation. That's how work's been these last few months, knackering and driving me to silent, well-contained fury; hence the shoulder pain. Still, it pays the bills and since Christmas I've turned in some amazing work.

And rather surprisingly, my garden hasn't had to endure months of neglect. Instead I've written one huge list, then gone at it like a mad thing in short, hour-long bursts a couple of times each week. The potatoes were planted in one early evening 45-minute blast (staff induction then pointless back to back meetings then a two-hour crawl along the M1 car park). All the bean supports went up in another 40-minutes (interviewing for colleagues and realising no-one was appointable after seeing 9 illiterates one of whom actually submitted their band 8 presentation entirely in text-speak.) That day almost ended with no shoulder pain... Even the onions sets, shallots and all the roots are in.

Part of me worries about this. Like Tita, will all this rage find an explosive outlet in the vegetables I've sown? Hope so. Imagine the rabbit that eats my French beans. This could be the year of a reasonable crop.

At the end of May I took off for the flat lands of Norfolk and some peace and quiet with the vegetarian sisters. An onion tart, a simple dish of perfectly cooked green beans and some fruit were set out for my arrival, and together with a bottle of Isla Negra High Tide and thoughts of my favourite poet I started a few days break from the world. I'm planning a return visit in the autumn, for who can resist the allure of a journey into the land of Carmel to enjoy its fruits and blessings?