Ted The Shed, Chapter 20 - Beans

January 2012 is a brutal month. But I enjoy taking seed catalogues around to Dad's, so that he can divide all the vegetables inside into 'little beauties' or 'blinking washouts.' There is a very unexpected development in the romance department. Don't worry! it's only between Harry and the Lady of Shallot. Nevertheless, I have to think on my feet, in order to protect the Lady's finer feelings.

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Transcript

Hello there,

It's Mandy here again.

Welcome back to Ted the Shed,

My memoir about my dad's allotment.

We've reached January 2012 now,

But before I begin please go right ahead and make yourself really comfortable settling down into your chair or your bed.

Relaxing those hands,

Settling your shoulders and just loosening your jaw.

That's wonderful.

Okay,

So if you're sitting or lying comfortably then I'll begin.

January 2012.

A bleak and cold January is upon us.

It is an unrewarding month for even the most determined allotmenteer.

Dad and Mr.

MS stay inside as much as possible and the only thing I can think of to do on the plot is tidy the shed while Dog MS guards the back fence,

Bristling when other dogs go past.

In theory I could plant sweet peas in pots at this time of year,

But even I think that's taking gardening too far.

It's a good time of year for ordering seeds though,

As all seed companies know.

Dad has collected several catalogues and I find them stacked up on his coffee table when I finish up at the plot and go round for a cup of tea and a warm-up.

He has reached an age where letters are few and far between and he's grateful for anything that lands on his doormat.

But before we get to the seed catalogues there is another kind of missive to navigate.

A brightly coloured printed letter with lots of capital letters telling him that he has won a diamond pendant and all he needs to do is claim it.

I think I might send off for this,

He says,

Jabbing his finger on it.

I see that he has already filled in the address box.

Is that a good idea?

I ask.

Well,

It must be legit,

He says.

They've got my name and address.

He hands me the magnifying glass he has been using to peer at it.

Have a look while I go and make the tea.

I don't really need to look.

What would you do with the pendant?

I ask him as he comes back in with the two mugs teetering on his plywood tray.

I thought you might like it.

I glance at the cheap looking item on its silvery chain.

That's a nice thought Dad,

I say.

A mixture of feelings roiling in my breast.

Uppermost is anger at companies that target vulnerable people like this.

Have you checked how much postage and packing you're signing up for?

Dad sits down.

What?

Well,

No,

But it can't be much for a little thing like that,

Can it?

It turns out to be $14.

99,

But Dad still isn't convinced that it's a scam.

Filling the address box out in his increasingly tiny writing must have taken a while and it has hooked him in.

Will you post it off for me,

Love,

He asks,

If I fetch you a stamp?

I consider trying to change his mind,

Then recognise that this is one of those things I probably have to let go.

He seems so chuffed about his free gift,

Which fact in itself might be worth $14.

99.

Of course,

I say.

While Dad painstakingly makes out a check for the amount,

I pick up one of the seed catalogues and begin leafing through.

I find bright colours again,

This time on flowers and vegetables,

Airbrushed and tinted to perfection.

This is almost as much of a scam as the diamond pendant.

The only difference is that when it comes to vegetables,

I am willing to be seduced.

What veg do you want to plant next year,

Dad?

I ask,

Hoping he'll allow a change of subject.

I'm in luck.

Well,

Spuds,

He says,

Folding the coupon and check together into an envelope and licking the flap.

Little beauties,

Bung them in the ground,

Do nothing,

Dig them up a few months later.

In Dad's view,

Vegetable crops are all either little beauties or blinking washouts,

And all spuds are little beauties.

Except,

That is,

For some Christmas potatoes he bunged in last August.

They grew nice green tops,

But produced nothing edible underground.

They were blinking washouts.

Any thoughts on varieties?

I ask.

Well,

Those home guard were superb,

Weren't they?

I nod and draw a red ring around the relevant seed potatoes in the catalogue.

You're not actually buying them from that catalogue,

Are you?

He asks,

Anxious.

Have you seen their prices?

Oh,

Don't worry,

I say.

It's just a visual record.

So,

What's next?

Dad takes the wrapper off his orange club and wraps it carefully around the bottom half of the biscuit.

Runners,

I reckon.

I've always liked runners because you can eat the whole bean.

I ring the Scarlet Emperors in the catalogue.

Onions,

I ask,

Looking at a bunch of smooth papery globes.

Dad takes a bite of his biscuit.

Not worth it.

They only cost pence to buy.

How about broad beans,

I ask?

Waste of effort,

Says Dad.

Half your labour goes into growing the pod.

You only get a handful of beans at the end of it.

Then the phone rings while you're cooking them and they get burnt to the devil.

Blinking washouts,

If you ask me.

But I love broad beans and,

In fact,

I have already planted some aqua dulce,

An overwintering variety.

When I went to tidy the shed,

I saw their first leaves poking up through the soil,

A beautiful pistachio green.

I look forward to seeing the delicate black and white flowers when they come.

I also admire their growth rate,

Moderate and steady.

They don't alarm with excess leafage,

Like spinach,

Nor turn to marrows overnight,

Like courgettes.

Mr.

MS shares my feeling about rife growth and admits to a mild dread of August because of a burgeoning quality about the plant life.

Giddying,

He calls it,

As if something is about to burst.

But back to the seed catalogue,

Where I sneak a red ring around the imperial long pods and decide that when the time comes,

I will enjoy eating them all by myself,

Slathered in butter and gobbled down in great forkfuls.

It is the ugly side of gardening.

Dad and I press on through the catalogue,

Or rather,

I suggest options and he vetoes them.

Sweet corn,

Cabbage,

Peas and beetroot are all summarily dismissed with relish.

He hasn't addressed the envelope to the pendant people,

Nor got up to fetch a stamp.

I decide not to remind him.

His memory isn't what it was.

Whose is,

As he might say.

So there's every chance that if he puts the still blank white envelope to one side,

He'll forget about it altogether.

When I get home,

Mr.

MS is at the stove,

Making himself a bacon,

Egg and sausage sandwich.

I decide to ask him what his favourite vegetable is.

Not counting potatoes,

I add.

This qualification stymies him for a few minutes.

Er,

Peas,

He tries.

There's no right answer,

I say.

Just say what you feel.

Fear enters his eyes,

But he rallies.

All vegetables are different and I like them all for what's individual and special about them.

For a man whose top ten films are constantly under revision,

That surprises me,

I say.

All right,

He says,

Baked beans.

I laugh,

Not at him,

But because together the three of us have scored a hat trick.

Be they runners,

Broadies or tinned haricots,

It's clear that we all love beans.

As you'll no doubt remember,

The romance between Scarecrow lovers,

Harry and the Lady of Shallot,

Was blighted by our allotment neighbour,

Who,

In the grip of a fantasy about juicy cukes,

Erected a huge poly tunnel between them.

We left the lady,

Bodiless,

On a shelf in the shed.

Nevertheless,

As late winter arrives,

It is yet again very windy and I begin to hope that the poly tunnel will flap away,

Born on its giant transparent wings.

But it doesn't and then life throws another gigantic spanner in the works.

Harry undergoes gender reassignment.

Now,

I am a modern woman.

I know that when one falls in love,

One falls in love with a person,

Not a gender.

And in that sense,

Nothing has changed.

Underneath the tiered skirt and floral jacket that I find Harry wearing one chilly morning at the plot,

His face thankfully back in place,

He is the same as ever.

His soul,

Or as some might term it,

His broomstick,

Hasn't changed.

And although the lady belongs to the century of Alfred Lord Table Tennyson and probably doesn't share my liberal views,

I'm sure she will come round.

She will,

I hope,

Stay in love regardless,

Despite Harry's poor fashion choices.

She might even consider a gender change herself and become the lad of shallot.

But there's a further problem.

Harry has turned into a drug addict.

The demure looking headscarf can't hide the straw poking permanently out of his left nostril.

I fumble with the padlock on our shed door,

Almost forgetting the secret combination.

How is the lady going to take this latest news?

When I finally open the door and see her head resting on its shelf,

My heart sinks.

Losing her body last year was a barrier to romance and no mistake,

But now her face is a sight too.

It's dirty,

Her hair dishevelled.

She has a deranged look.

That's probably down to the buzzing.

She shared the shed with the wasp's nest last summer and I don't think she has ever recovered.

My nerve fails.

I can't add to her troubles with this latest news.

I need to think,

And perhaps I need to think laterally.

I stroll around the plot in the way I do at the beginning of any visit,

Inspecting for progress or damage.

When I reach the broad beans,

Inspiration strikes.

I remember something,

Or rather someone,

I saw on another plot on the way here.

Mr.

M.

S.

Is fond of quoting Aristotle's saying,

One nail knocks out another.

This is particularly true in the area of romance,

I decide.

I go back into the shed and bundle the lady's head into a bin bag.

Undignified,

Yes,

But sometimes the end justifies the means.

I march her quickly to a plot near the entrance gate and pop her head out.

I turn her eyes in the direction of the allotment site's new arrival,

Hobby horse person.

He stands between a compost bin and a water butt,

Looking handsome in a cerebral kind of way.

As we gaze on him,

It all makes sense.

You and I may see only a head on a pole,

But for the lady,

Given her current status,

I have a hunch that he'll be an inspirational figure,

Standing as he does for all those who have dispensed with their bodies and its many oppressions for good.

Having feasted our eyes,

We walk slowly back to our own plot.

When we pass Harry,

The lady doesn't so much as spare him a glance.

This is a good sign.

As I replace her head on its corner shelf,

Next to the blood,

Fish and bone fertilizer,

Her face wears a dreamy look.

At the very least,

HHP will have given her the confidence that it's cool to go body free,

But she may actually have found a soul mate.

As I lock the shed door,

I fancy I hear a sigh,

But perhaps it's just the wind rustling through the dead leaves.

To be continued.

Reviews

More laughter with seed catalogs and your dad’s strong opinions! Thank you Mandy💖🌲

Another enjoyable experience! 🙏🙏🙏😀😀😀👏👏👏 I appreciate you more than you know!

Given what we’ve learned about Dad, I was a bit surprised by how giggled up he was about his “winnings” but his reason for wanting to cash in was incredibly sweet. Mr MS’s deer-in-the-headlights at the stove had me rolling, haha! And I too eat my peas and garden lauder as you do, it’s the best 😅. I don’t know what you’re going to do about the garden romance (cue the music!). Wonderful chapter, Mandy! 🥰

Makes me think of what I was doing in 2011-12. My mom died that January 2012. She was taken in by mail scammers, but mostly those asking for donations. Many hundreds of dollars were donated before we could get control. Made me angry too! You got me giggling in the end, Mandy, visualizing the bodyless “Lady” and her beaus! 🙏🏻😊❤️

I am thankful you’ve shared your father and life with us in this story. I am so excited each time I listen to a chapter. Many thanks your way. ( your writing and delivery touch me in a good way)

You make me laugh! But also… could this be the greatest love story ever told? We’ll just have to wait and see! Another great chapter, can’t wait for the next installment xx

Every day with a Ted installment is a special day. I love every episode.