The leek has overwintered and is still doing well. The parsnips still in the ground are sprouting again -- must lift for soup. The dandelions are out in force, probably much to the annoyance of our plot neighbours who get the floaty little helicopter seeds. I'm not too fussed about dandelions -- salad as far as I'm concerned, and the flowers can be -- see here -- coated in batter, fried and eaten like tempura mushrooms -- and if the proverbial hits the fan and the letters of credit dry up and there's no more shipping and thus no more real coffee, our plot alone will produce enough dandelion root, roasted over our cosy stove fire fed by the burning bridges of neoliberalism, to keep half of the allotment association in fake coffee.
OH and I had dug over some of the beds and we spent the evening planting out lettuce and broad beans. I'm off to the next family event this weekend so OH said he'd use the time to plant out the potatoes. Good job it's still so cold -- our plot looks like the Somme but we can argue that it's all because of the weather.
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