The Appeal of Mrs Toogood

It’s been a long time since I posted an update to this blog and I imagine the internet is appropriately grateful. However, it turns out that writing this nonsense is good for my head and is a slightly more productive way to pass my time than watching endless repeats of Taskmaster on Dave. Well, just about.

In the last few months, all kinds of shizzle has been going down over at Ticklepenny and I’d love to dive back in with a description of the various shenanigans but I think I’ll make this more of an introductory recap/scene setter. Next week though. Boy oh boy. Just hold onto your hats. Unless you’ve already attached a chinstrap or something, in which case you’ll probably be fine.

If you are still subscribed and receiving this by email, you have only yourself to blame. I honestly won’t be offended if you unsubscribe. In fact, I advise you to do just that. Last year’s blogging was pretty weak and I’m not imagining this will be any better. I hated advertising posts on Facebook last year and won’t be doing it any more. I can’t cope with the stress of waiting for likes and shares. Also, and perhaps even more critically, I’ve deleted my Facebook account in favour of adopting a lifestyle based on the Tolpuddle Martyrs.

When I wrote my last post, the 9% hilarious All Rabbits Must Die, I had got a good half dozen trees planted in a sheltered plot just outside Louth. Catastrophe struck when one of the young saplings was attacked by a local pest and then I took an extended break from blogging. How did the tragic victim do over the winter, I hear no-one ask? How, for that matter, did the rest of them do? Am I still keen on kebabs and intent on leaping to unfair judgements about people I see on the bus?

Plod on, dear reader. This week’s blog answers all those things and less. And doesn’t even mention Coronavirus or lockdown. Next week’s will but you’re safe for now.

Towards the back end of the year, a delivery arrived outside my Lincoln headquarters containing three new trees from the East of England Apples and Orchards Project. Unlike the potted ones I bought from Mr d’Arcy, these ones had roots exposed and needed planting sharpish.

Consequently, on a sunny day in November, me and my dad moved the electric fence installed to prevent horses rampaging through the orchard and made room for another 6 trees. With the plot extended, we banged the new arrivals down in a row. Here’s a picture to prove I did at least a tiny proportion of the actual work.

If you look closely, you can just about make out the line where my lush orchard pasture gives way to the ravaged mudflats of the adjacent horse enclosure. It turns out that fruit trees are way less likely to turn grass to mud than massive hooved animals. On the other hand, if you need to get somewhere quick or just fancy looking like a cowboy, my trees will be less useful than you might think. Also, and I admit this only through gritted teeth, the horses are pretty nice. Watching big animals mooch around is good for the soul. I just pity Barb having to follow them around with a wheelbarrow, shovelling up their mountainous bottom-deposits. Dog owners, you have no idea how lucky you are. You wouldn’t be able to hang a horse poo from a low-hanging tree branch.

As well as planting the new trees, we took the opportunity to replace the Kwik-Save own brand tree protectors with some marvellous swanky ones that my dad picked up from the arboreal equivalent of Waitrose. All corrugated plastic and looming battlements, these babies will protect the saplings and give them time and space to grow and thrive. Hopefully.

By the end of the day’s labours I had burnt enough calories to offset at least one of the Mars Bars I intended to scoff later and had poured away enough sweat to make room for a golden pint of bitter. Ticklepenny Orchard now contains a sum total of nine trees planted in neat rows of three, which is officially four more than you need to qualify. Together they represent eight different classic Lincolnshire varieties, each one as gruesomely inedible as the last. It would have been nine varieties but my memory deserted me when my sister asked me which ones I wanted her to order. Bah.

Standing at the top of the orchard slope, leaning on a spade I’d almost nearly used, I peered out at the rows of trees. I have achieved very little in life, and I can only assume the burgeoning swell I felt when I stood looking at them was pride, even though in truth they just looked like sticks pointing out of plastic tubes. I’ll try not to get used to it.

Any road, Ticklepenny Orchard now contains the following varieties: Dr Clifford (a 3 year old cooker), Ellison’s Orange, Lord Burghley, Barnack Beauty, Ingall’s Pippin, Ingall’s Red, Peasgood Nonesuch, Bolingbroke Beauty, and another Ingall’s Red (all aged 2 and either dessert apples or dual purpose). I’ve got space for three more trees and the ones I’m hoping to find are Uland, Roxbury Russet and a lost species that will prove to the haters that I am, after all this time, a proper tree detective. In an ideal world, that lost variety would be Mrs. Toogood but we all know it probably won’t be.

Anyway, that’s the catch-up done. Next time, my first trip to the orchard in ages.