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On the allotment front, I want to tell a cautionary tale about the dangers of May. It's all balmy and lovely for a bit, and your sprightly Runner Beans have been doing well on the patio for a couple of weeks. "Allotment, ho!" you say, and dutifully head off to erect some sort of weird bamboo clambering frame for them. And then it happens. May happens. Duplicitous, frigid May. With its snap frosts and consequently withered Runner Beans. Do not trust it.
Other than the Runners, everything's rather rosy in Xanadu (for that, sadly, is the working title for my little patch... don't worry, the shed's called Dave); my fruit bushes are becoming more bushy with every rainy day, none of the mail-order Artichokes or Asparagus crowns have failed, and there's a gradual feeling that the beastliest of the weeds are being tamed by my stern hoe. In short, it's becoming a garden. And it pleases.
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Now! Word-gripe of the week! This time it's the turn of "progressive", which has become so meaningless in the last few months that even David Cameron dares use it. We'll see on that front, but for me this election campaign was the moment when zeitgeisty "progressive" joined the pile of other meaningless campaign words.
So, that updated list in full: sustainable, fair, change, progressive. It'll doubtless grow...
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