Tuesday, 30 June 2009
Oh dear, black clouds are gathering over our leafy Eden. The secretary appears to be on the warpath. An Allotment Committee Meeting has been called for this coming Sunday, and Roger, quoting one of the old codgers, tells me that it appears to concern "getting rid of A".
Now I've never met or even seen A from a distance, and her plot, the blighted one with huge tree roots, is indeed a bleedin' disgrace, probably because it hasn't seen her either, but so is the one next to Eddie's, shared by a dentist and a policeman (true! supposed pillars of society - you can tut loudly here). The secretary's oft-threatened but previously mythical Letters have been sent out, and the errant gardeners should have 4 weeks in order to make a respectable effort. It may be that the meeting is intended to ratify the first step in eviction of these offenders, in which case it seems a bit premature to me. Or as they say here, a bit previous.
However, these are not the only plot holders to make little effort, and two other allotmenteers, not happy with the arbitrary nature of the Letter-sending, asked me what I thought we should do. All I could think of, my heart sinking at the sudden and unusual emergence of open conflict and decisive action, could only think of being awfully British and playing fair. "Er, ask them if they really want their plots - they have paid their year's rent, after all - give them more time, and (oh, a revolutionary thought, this!) maybe even give A a hand".
Something tells me that this Sunday's meeting will not be seeking arbitration, mediation, or even ordinary niceness; I'm not looking forward to it. Maybe I should make cakes again.
Eddie the Poisoner tried to convince me today that my own Letter would reach me next week.