I’m afraid I’m a bad divorced father. In the case of vegetables. Incredible. Occasionally there. I can’t make promises. Constantly. Appear around when he agrees. Tragically trying to overpay.
I returned to Denmark for another two weeks. Call other family responsibilities. He brings another piece of land to enter. I will not be faithful to the plot.
I would go to many 29 mornings. By 6 am-ish, return home with bread and bread around 8 p.m. Only us. Even if the knee is soft. They have gone through the process of storing street magic. The way of screaming foxes. The angry baby Jay. The first butterflies drink dew.
I have done my best, I say to myself. I sowed late canned, French beans and Higgard garden nasturtiums. I encourage the baby’s morning glory. I distributed seaweed weeds. He picked up the slides and snails.
I was there, even though I was breastfeeding. To admire the poppies. To choose sweet peas. To keep the conspiracy company. To marry the land if you wish. To compensate for the lack of permanence. As much as I can.
The plot continues without me.
There are bank accounts, calendula, purple-seeded orache, and blurry cream. Although the greatest success was with sunflowers. The tall, multi-colored, multi-colored spheres seem to be completely independent.
We have more bees and other insects here than ever before. Cascades of Peacock Butterflies. Finding here is not always easy, but there is joy.
I know the plot awaits. Be more patient than ever. I will be back one morning. Pull weeds. Choosing beans. I’m sorry.
Alan Allenkins Conspiracy 29 (4th Estate, £ 9.99) is now out. Order it from guardianbookshop.com for £ 8.49