Rage de Tomate

I'm feeling off-kilter with things at the moment. It's supposed to be Spring, which means I have stuff to do in the garden, stuff to clear out of the garage, and stuff to do on my book.

Unfortunately, despite the sunshine, the wind was blowing in directly from the Siberian steppe and the only thing I had any desire to do was hunker down beneath something warm and do nothing. I tried to be dynamic, honest! I took the boys down to the cycle circuit this morning, wrapped in hoodie and ski jacket and sat facing the sun so at least I might get a healthy glow even if I was a shivering wreck.

I had to get petrol after lunch, and in a wave of efficiency, decided to go to Botanic as well to get tomato seeds/plants. It seems in fact I'm a bit early for tomato plants for the summer, so I got annoyed that I'm too early and that the trip was going to prove to be a waste of time (and dynamism). I looked at seed packets and got even crosser. The blurb described the size and colour of the tomato, but not the taste. What's the point of growing your own toms if it's not to be guaranteed a tomato with TASTE? Good grief, I don't care what it looks like as long as it doesn't taste like a bland mushy piece of crap like the ones in the supermarket.

I was getting ready to stomp out in disgust when I realised that changes had been made in the shop, and there is now a massive area devoted to organic produce and even a little eatery. Mollified, my youngest and I made an in-depth study of all on sale, and bought a bag of cart-wheels pasta (at his request) (last of the big spenders...). The prices were generally on the upper side of high as you can imagine. Still, it was something new, and helped me forget my tomato rage.

After all the excitement, however, and freezing weather, I eschewed all further prospect of working outside, hunkered down beneath a warm furry blanket and watched 'Icon' on DVD while the boys did their own thing.

So I didn't need to worry about planting tomatoes yet. It's too early. Clearly, I should do my homework, then I'd actually know what I was doing...

One day... perhaps...

Muddy Fingers

We've had a windy weekend. Trees have been blown down, garden centres have feared for their greenhouses and cypress trees have been left lounging at 45°.

I was out in it, oh yes! Having trundled around Botanic buying ground-covering plants, a birthday card for my sis-in-law (must remember to post it tomorrow!) and a gardening tool, I was keen to get everything into the soil and looking good.

When we came back from Botanic, the old lavender and rosemary plants which had been dumped on the path up to the door had been blown about the road making me think of those tumble weeds that you see rolling their way over the Texan desert. I meant to take them to the dump having decided not to burn them, despite the nice smells they would produce. For the moment though they are lurking in front of the house... sooo smart...

However, ignoring the rubbish, the front garden is now spruce with heather, new lavender plants to replace those sad old things that had been trampled on by my youngest, and a ground-covering spruce-type plant. I could go and look at the label, but can't be bothered - it's dark, cold and I've had enough! I was aided and abetted with removing some of the thousands of stones from our incredibly stony soil upon which formerly the only things that could grow were pines or vines, by said youngest who is in 'helpful' mode. Nearly six is a very appealing age.

The back garden now has planted: tomatoes, red onions, peas, strawberries, herbs, coriander seeds and the ground-covering plants for the steep edge. We are considering terracing the patch of weeds to grow flowers or nothing except gravel. It's with some trepidation though that I look at the work there is to do. The earth is heavy clay and the weeds are rampant having had a free reign since the autumn. The compost bin is filling up fast as we rid ourselves of the worst culprits - nasty prickly thistles.

By way of respite today, we went for a picnic at Restinclières, got the last available picnic table and enjoyed a simple lunch of crunchy bread, camembert au lait cru, cherry tomatoes, crisps and a nice rosé wine. We then meandered down to the source of the river Lez where the ResidentAdo said she would be camping sauvage with a friend this summer. As there are notices all over the place forbidding the lighting of fires, I wasn't too sure how this would be possible. It's a serious offense, too, those who disobey being liable for prosecution, so I just hope she is not heading for trouble even if the friend did go camping there last year.

Quite frankly, the idea of camping sauvage now leaves me completely cold. Give me free hot showers and clean loos any day. I was never very keen on it, but went along to be with the ex-h on the odd occasion (including our honeymoon!). Now though, it has to have four stars with playground for the boys and a place that sells frites.

Now, that's camping civilisé!

Sunday Bloody Sunday

Having had the ResidentAdo ruin the previous evening, the day started tensely. However, the sun was shining and I had plans for the garden, especially having been bugged by Monty Don talking about allotments on the tele yesterday. With the RA out for the morning, we were able to fall upon Botanic, with plans to max out the credit card on plants, seeds and a compost bin.

I wanted to renew some of the lavender in the front, and turn some of the weed-infested garden into a vegetable plot in the back. The compost bin has been on my mind for years. Twice, I've applied to have one from the local authorities who were promoting them as a freebie, only to hear nothing afterwards. Botanic had some lovely ones for 50Eur - 400litres, a discreet dark green plastic and shovel hole at the bottom.

It was Grandmother's Day today, so Botanic was heaving, and actually getting hold of the compost bin of my choice was not easy. In fact, I was given a 700litre one, and only realised it once the 125Eur it cost had appeared on my till receipt. I wondered how I could have possibly spent so much money on a few packets of seeds and lavender!! Needless to say, they had none of the 400litre ones left in stock, so my hanging around risked being for naught until the salesman offered me the one on display. I immediately agreed, but said he didn't need to dismantle it as I have an estate car. Come to think of it, maybe I should have asked for a discount!!

Unfortunately, we couldn't get digging in the garden after lunch as I had to take my eldest to a bowling party. Since it was so far, there was no point coming back home, so the rest of us went to Palavas, to the Parc du Levant to wander round and cross the lagoon to the pretend castle. The bowling place had been so noisy and revolting that it was a huge relief to be outside in the sun, watching (very) young mothers and fathers with their children in the kiddie park. There was an interesting spectrum of Palavasian life there - smoking mothers, fathers decked out in bling, grandparents worrying over other peoples' children and looking disapprovingly at seemingly careless parenting.

Eventually, we went back to the bowling place and suffered the noise and smell for a further hour while my eldest did himself proud on the alley coming in a close second after leading for much of the session. The party was then removed to the sofas, and the cake brought out. It was a quite revolting synthetic chocolate affair, and I couldn't agree with birthday boy's mother who was in raptures over it. Finally, the presents were opened and we were able to leave that hellhole.

Once home, I fell upon the garden digging and weeding in preparation for planting. We couldn't plant today as it got dark before we had finished, but the plot is looking promising. J took his power tools to the useless fence and made a more useful plant support fence out of it.

ResidentAdo has been absent for practically 25 out of 48 hours, has made no apology for ruining our evening last night, done bugger all to help in the house, and, as far as I'm concerned, is on "Going home to mum warning", and I don't care if it is in the middle of the school year!

The iron has entered my soul.