Endless Winter

It's 8th April today, and there are still snowdrops in full flower in my garden (see photo).

Don't get me wrong: I love snowdrops.  But there's a time and a place for them, and April isn't it, even up here in North Staffordshire.  But since there's still some snow too, I suppose you can't blame them for being confused.

We were in Cornwall last week, but although we had anticipated a little spring fix from this, we were disappointed in that respect.  There were quite a few primroses about, but we've seen them at Christmas down there before now, and apparently local horticulturalists had a rotten year for daffodil sales with nothing much ready for Mothering Sunday and everything a bit beaten up by Easter, after heavy rain and persistent strong, easterly winds.

In our garden there are a few daffs about, mostly the little "Tete-a-Tete" cultivar and "February Gold", which have just opened, defiantly oblivious to its name.  Not that the narcissi here have any regard for the Trades Descriptions Act at the best of times.  "St Patrick's Day" are never open in time, but if they manage to put on a show by St George's Day this year, they will be doing well.

Not losing the plot - busy day on the allotment

Despite this, there's something that has to be done at this time of year, come what may, and that's the planting of First Early potatoes.  We got ours in on the allotment yesterday.  Three different cultivars - Colleen, Cosmos and Swift, and for once it actually felt almost like spring, with lighter winds and some pale sunshine.  It was similar today, despite a less optimistic forecast, as we prepared our plots at Reaseheath for what, in theory, was the same exercise, though there's more than one way to plant a spud...

On the allotment, I dug over the whole plot to work in some of that most gruesomely-named fertiliser, 'blood, fish and bone', estimating the quantity, before digging individual trowel holes about 15cm deep for each tater, judging the rows by eye at 45cm centres in both directions, using my long trowel handle for guidance.  At college, matters had to be done to proper RHS specifications.  Exactly 400g of fertiliser was weighed out (fun in a stiff breeze) and scattered evenly over the area to be planted, lightly forked in ('Will you stop DIGGING!' Harry ordered me - so I tried not to lift too much soil) and then two perfectly spaced, taut garden lines positioned 75cm apart.  Using draw hoes we took two out lovely neat V-profiled trenches, before retrieving our chitted spuds from their nice warm greenhouse and spacing them neatly into what must have felt to the spuds like an icy tomb.

Naturally, I couldn't resist an experiment, so have spaced one row at 30cm centres and the second at 20cm, to see which gives the higher yield - I'm expecting smaller spuds from those spaced closer together, but with more tubers...?  We shall see.  But the main thing is, they are all in.  Mission accomplished, we went to the pub.

At home, I still have the bulk of my second early and main crop spuds to plant, but that will have to wait for the next few weeks, as something of a completely non-gardening nature will be taking priority. 
Here's a clue... 

Must go now - I have a boat to catch!