The Appeal of Mrs Toogood

It’s not easy to admit you’re wrong. Even when you get as much practice as I do. This last two week hiatus has been the direct result of realising that, a) lots of cleverer and better informed people than me have failed to find these lost apple varieties and b) a lost apples blog that doesn’t involve any actual lost apples being heroically found is a bit of a waste of time. All in all, the blog has turned out to be a bit of a damp squib.

I could definitely plant some apples in the field near Ticklepenny Lock if I wanted to, and having an orchard would be pretty cool, but they’d probably be ones I bought from the established heritage apple project. If I miraculously manage to find some obscure ones and want to preserve their genetic identity, I think it’s going to take a couple of years sat around in plant pots before they’re ready to venture outside. Not thrilling reading, even with the bar set as low as I’ve been setting it.

I enjoy writing, but I’ve reluctantly started to feel a bit of moral responsibility towards my readership, who is investing time she could probably spend doing something more entertaining, like sleeping or staring into space. With purpose and worth sadly lacking, the future of my blog looks bleak.

After finishing my officially sanctioned self-pity wallow, I decided to gather up all those I love and head somewhere important and contemplative. Tragically, Stan (my cat) hates travel and is predominantly made of teeth and claws so my navel gazing ended up being a solo venture. The only place that makes sense at the moment is Cross O’Cliff orchard, so I packed some sarnies and wandered along after work. The sun wasn’t as bright this time but there was still a lot of blossom activity and after a bit of a wander, I had a good sit down. By which I mean nap. Obviously.

I was reminded of what a beautiful place it is. Wandering down the slightly curved path towards the orchard proper, I left behind the cares of the world and embraced a world where things grow over the span of years, don’t care about Brexit (probably. I can’t be entirely sure. Maybe with this much coverage, even wood-based lifeforms are debating the value of the onrushing European elections) and will carry on growing and producing lush fruit regardless of whether I illiterately write about them or not.

It’s a cool place and I’m happy here. I’m not going to lie. Part of that happiness is that everyone else is somewhere different. I see no-one and nothing. There’s evidence of dog walkers but there’s no need to dwell on that. Remember the tree that had branches growing out of the trunk in the shape of a sort of seat? I sit there. Surprisingly it’s not quite as comfortable as it looks and I eventually plump for the ground nearby instead. Ah well. That’s my fault for spending the last twenty years eating a largely (and indeed large) pie-based diet.

Contemplating the world go by, I was reminded that I never thought anyone would really be interested in this nonsense and the fact that they’re not shouldn’t surprise me or affect my decision. I’m the one writing it and I’m at least a sizeable proportion of my weekly views. Perhaps what the silent trees and watching birdlife is trying to tell me is that I should just write for myself. Obviously, I know they’re not really telling me that. They have no concept of blogging. If anything, they’re telling me to hurry up and die so the birds can eat my corpse and the last remains of it can nurture the soil. It’s a cheery thought.

Eventually I decided to do what any true writer does when faced with failure; lower my standards and try again. I’m still going to look for the apples, because it’s fun wandering around the countryside and I don’t have anything better to do with my time, but I’m also going to branch out into other appley stuff like sitting in orchards, whether professional or incidental, large or small, and talk about that as well. It’s not better than the lost apple drivel but it’s certainly no worse.

Anyway, to all of my reader I’d like to say thanks for your support thus far and here are some brief words of advice. Don’t read this crap. The weather’s getting better and you must have something better to do with your Saturday evenings. Take up a hobby. Mention it to me in passing once you know what you’re doing, and then sit back and shake your head in consternation as I write a crap blog about my failure to master it.