Earwigging

Weeks have passed already since I excitedly packed up and set sail for a girls weekend in Jersey. I am totally in love with these islands nestled between my new and old homes and try to get there at any given opportunity. Sometimes I find that actually getting out the house and on my way is the hardest part of a holiday; this, as usual was the case but I made it to the port on time. But, this posting isn't about my trip to the isles, that's another story. This, is quite simply a story about ear wigging.

I hadn't realised how much I miss ear wigging until now. I work amongst French people so spend a lot of the time partially deaf, missing out on those little subtle moments in conversation that end in rip roaring laughter, tears or just pure fascination and disbelief. I often don't tune in unless I'm fully concentrating on what's being said and it's kind of isolating and culture starving for a socialite. Anyway, here are a couple of earwiggings from my travels so I thought I'd share them with you.

Acte 1
Waiting to board the boat, I found myself listening to a very well spoken young lady chatting away to two Indian women about Jersey; it's positives and negatives, the over building, the wealth, the lack of green space.
" I was bawn in Jarsay you see, it's dreadfully sad how much it's changed over the years " Said young lady only looked about eighteen so I wondered how much she'd really seen change.

" Such a shame, buildings going up all over the place, ghastly things and no greenery left like before ". To my mind Jersey is full of green spaces.

" Yes, that's right, too many foreigner everywhere, they taking all the job and can't speak very well English " Replied the Indian lady she was talking to.

The trio had moved on to the subject of foreigners. This is where it got a little strange, the girl and two said Indian ladies began complaining profusely about the problem of immigration, the new breed of immigrants in the UK taking all the jobs, not understanding what they say, not showing any respect etc.

What a peculier sign of the times and also a strange chat to have with a total stranger. I couldn't help but wonder how a French person would react if I had sparked up this conversation with them. You are certainly very at home in Britain, do you ever get to call France your home?


Acte 2
As I settled in to upper deck C on the ferry I sipped my ice cold beer ( the first of the holiday treats! ) and thought I'd shut my eyes for a minute or two. A teenaged lad slumped himself down opposite me and a lady and her son opposite him. Almost immediately they fell into conversation with each other.

" You know Provence?" The teenager said.
" Oh yes, I do, we have a very, very large property you know in the South of France. Do you live there? "
" Nah, just been visiting me grandad, he lives there in a big, big house."
"Oh, lovely. And, you er, you went there on your own to see him?"
" Yeah."
Then a minutes silence or two.
" My Grandad, he's minted you see. You know them petrol strimmers? "
"Oh yes, dangerous things. "
" Well, he's got one of them." He blinked and shuffled uncomfortably for a bit then said, " You know them remote control lawnmowers? Well, he's got one of them too."
" Oh right. Does he have a pool? "
" Yeah, you?"
At this point it was clear that child or not, the teenaged boy and the lady had locked horns, engaged in battle. If they were bantam cocks their chests would be fluffed up and ready for action. Even the adult in the conversation couldn't help herself.

" Oh yes, you just have to have one where we live, it's very very hot you see. How big is his?"
" It's above ground "
" Oh, right I see. Ours is a proper pool, a very big pool actually in the ground. "

I almost spat my heineken across the table. Outright war, conversation over, contest in full flow. After a while the conversation faded and they went back to silence. The little boy accompanying her who was the teenagers initial interest was now bored again, kicking his own feet and swinging his legs all over the place.

I was shocked how people are so competitive, so cheesed off they turn their anger on to a complete stranger. Instead, I turned my attention to the gift shop, to some nice looking little watches. But, there's no escaping it, in the background, a generation older, three elderly gents behind me began discussing the last Parish Council meeting.

" You know what Bill? "
" What? "
" If I were you I'd have..."

Enough's enough. No more contests, this ear wigging was starting to drive me nuts. Out to the deck to some "foreigners " smoking and taking in the sea air.

I didn't have a clue what they were on about but they were laughing a lot. For today I think perhaps I prefer it this way...

Green fingers and muddy paws

For two days I couldn't lift my arms above my head without groaning like an old tractor but it was worth it. Six barrow loads later and our little courtyard garden has been transformed into a productive site where raspberries, cucumbers, potatoes, strawberries, lettuces, peas, courgettes, herbs, beetroot, chard, sweetpeas, tomatoes and not forgetting the divine sounding purple queen beans will grow..if all goes according to plan.



It's pretty small chez nous and I'm no professional so we 've had to think carefully about what to do. Although keeping it simple is key, I like a space that calls in all our neighbours, particularly the fluffy, winged or feathered kind to help the garden grow and tweet to their heart's delight. The sounds of these visitors is so soothing and for me that's the sign of a great garden; one which you do absolutely nothing in or equally one that is just as perfect with the echos of laughter and clinking of glasses over summer lunch.

I definitely have a touch of that SAD disease in the long winter months; they seem so full of a dourness that I can't shake and those grey days leave me dreaming of hearty stews in front of a roaring fire and praying for sunlight. A little dramatic I know but with the first sniff of spring my winter coat is shed, my green fingers polished and I'm prepared to muddy my paws, feel the earth and leave an annual imprint on our little outdoor space.



This year I got thinking about how amazing it would be to have a garden that makes a difference, gives more than just relaxation back to you? Helps you eat organically, saves on transporting food round the globe and gives hours of blissful solitary fun. I always thought our garden was too small for any of this but then I discovered Nigel Slater and have been romanced by the idea of having all those ingredients just a step or two from the back door. Even better, Alys Fowler and her fabulous city garden. This bright, quirky new gardening queen has an ingenious way of planting the veggies in with the other garden plants to create a delicious and beautiful haven to sit, relax and eat from all year round. Sprinkle on plenty of vintage glamour and you'd be crazy not to try some of her home grown heaven even in the smallest space. My little sister's even going to try some balcony pots at her new London pad. I love it and think it's such a fun way to grow things.

What's more, it really pays off, the more we've put in, the more visitors we have and it's wierd but it makes you feel so happy to see a couple of birdies watching out for each other, letting one another eat while the other keeps guard, so symbolic somehow. For me, this is the single most magnificent way to unwind and dream of the future so deciding what goes where is crucial as with each year things look brighter and more beautiful than before. So far, the potatoes in the bag are coming through, the tomatoes are sprouting and it'll not be long before my sweetpeas are weaving a magnificent purple web up the bamboo stakes set in place for them. For me this is heaven on a plate.



www.telegraph.co.uk/gardening/gardeningadvice/7422221/Alys-Fowler-new-kid-on-the-block