Eclectic title for a post, I know. But it does kind of give you an idea what's been happening at our homely hidey-hole, Fortress Balham.
Perhaps I ought to explain. Wonderful Man and I are the proud parents of a rather splendid Chilean Rose hair tarantula. Now, when I say "proud parents" I mean that I gaze at her in adoration, noticing all the little bits such as the peachy coloured fuzz which covers her, her delicate little feet and her habit of trying to climb the glass in her aquarium. Wonderful Man, by contrast, watches from afar, carefully making sure that Rosie Posie, as she is known, is not developing any Houdini-like skills. It's fair to say that our "spider-rearing" techniques are at opposite ends of the spectrum. But recently, we have hit a snag.
I am forced to conclude that we have an anorexic spider.
For weeks now, Rosie has refused even the most juicy of morsels, turning her nose up at crickets, locusts and even red runners when they are offered to her. Whereas previously she would leap on any unsuspecting insect which was dropped into her tank, dispatching it with surgical precision and then leisurely nomming down, she now acts like Gillian McKeith faced with a Mars Bar, waving her little palps in the air and backing away post haste. The red runner, having been reprieved, then scrambles up Rosie's log and stands there like a little victor. It's really most frustrating.
We would not worry if this had only been the case for a few weeks. But it's been months now since Rosie has eaten anything at all, although she empties her water bowl nearly every day. Is our spider having feelings of low self-esteem, wishing to transform herself into Victoria Beckham-like skinniness? Or is she just being a contrary little madam? Only time will tell. But watch this space.
Now, onto gardening. Ahhhh, gardening. Never did I think we would ever become so enthralled (=obsessed) with compost, seeds and cultivation. But enthralled we are, and our little plot has become something of a talking point amongst our neighbours, stuffed to the gunnels as it is with all manner of juicily cropping, er, crops. Witness the runner beans, now seven or eight feet high, which I grew from tiny, shiny, speckled seeds. I grew them from seed! Tiny little seeds! A little further along, the thick green stalks of sweetcorn stand sturdily, grown from inch-high little seedlings. Next to them, our first beetroots are beginning to form. On the opposite side, our potatoes, brussels sprouts and peas are flourishing - although with the recent downpours, our potato bags are now covered in an assortment of brightly coloured umbrellas. Potatoes do not like too much water!
We must confess, however, to a slight gardening....setback. Not a disaster as we did learn from it but just a little bit disappointing, however. We had decided to grow purple sprouting broccoli in a corner of our raised bed, under the elder tree. Teeny little seedlings were duly implanted in the compost, and we watched their progress each day. Slowly they grew, a few inches each week, stronger each day. We waited with bated breath for our harvest of richly purple sprouts. Dutifully we sprinkled them with plant feed and seaweed.
And what did we end up with?
Towering triffid-like plants with leaves the size of dustbin lids - and.....wait for it.......TWO sprouts. Yup, you heard right. Two sprouts. From ten plants. In the end, in frustration, we decided to get rid and plant something a bit more friendly. But they didn't go easy. Scissors and secateurs failed at the job and we ended up sawing through the tough, woody trunk, and then heaving at the roots to get them free. Finally we cracked it and sat back, surveying the carnage we had left. Ten enormous holes. But there was an upside. The next morning the bed was being thoroughly foraged by our robin, clearly delighted that those messy big old plants had gone and he could go back to pulling worms from the soil.
But overall our garden has been and continues to be a source of joy. Little victories spring up each day - the discovery of tiny, hard green tomatoes on the plants I grew from seed elicits a shivery thrill. And when our bright yellow patty-pans started appearing, peeking through the prickly stems, each garnished with a greeny-orange flower, I could hardly contain my excitement. My work colleagues have got used to my arriving in the office saying "you'll never believe what's come up now!" before excitedly showing them photos on my phone.
Ahhhh...the bliss, the sheer bliss. More muddy-fingered news soon.
