The Right Path

It has been brought to my attention that some of the paths on the allotment are deemed to be unsafe. I suggested that the members watch this video - I haven't heard back from them since.

Live!

BBC4 showed a re-run of the film Woodstock the other night to mark the 40th anniversary of the famous 'flower power' gathering on Max Yasgur's farm in Bethel, New York in August 1969.
Part of the attraction of the film isn't just the performances by the likes of Jimi Hendrix, The Who and Janis Joplin but the interviews with the local populace and the large number of kids attending the event.
One girl refers to everybody as 'cats' and I like to think that there is a sixty year old woman somewhere in the States who proudly digs out the DVD for the family to watch her fifteen minutes of fame when they visit.
Of course, she could have become a casualty of the times as Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix did but even if she's not around anymore, her memory will live on.
The soundtrack album of the film is rarely mentioned when 'Best Live Albums' lists are drawn up but for Hendrix's performance alone it merits praise.
A quick 'Google' for best Live Albums brings up The Who - Live at Leeds. James Brown - Live at the Apollo, The Rolling Stones - Get Yer Ya Ya's Out and Johnny Cash - Live at Folsom Prison. I can't help feeling that it would be marvelous to have been in the audience for any of those gigs (except the last one of course) and even though I have seen a great number of bands over the years, I cannot boast of a claim to fame as the 'cats' girl can in Woodstock.
Or so I thought........
Browsing through a certain on-line auction site last week for anything connected with Oldham (I once bought 12 Oldham Brewery beermats off ebay and to this day I have no idea why) I came across a Live CD by Manchester band The Fall recorded in Oldham in 1978 .
Now I know that my memory hasn't been at its best since I passed my 50th year on this planet but I was absolutely sure I was at this gig which took place at the Tower Club on 21st August 1978.
I should quickly point out that the Tower Club was a former church owned by a very large and very short tempered West Indian chap. It was hardly Madison Square Gardens and I can imagine that some of the inmates of Folsom Prison would have rioted over the state of the toilet facilities.
However, it was a club that had no discernible dress code, although some sort of attire was expected and the door staff's primary concern appeared to be to get as many people in the place rather than filter the more undesirable ones out.
As was usual on a Friday night in Oldham, I was more than likely very drunk and although I know I was at the gig, I have very little memory of it.
I managed to beat off someone who was prepared to pay £1.04p for the CD and it duly arrived on the doorstep today.
For those of you not acquainted with The Fall, I will spare you a full description of the CD. In short, it sounds absolutely terrible and there are very few appreciative noises from the audience.
I am sure that the band will have been encouraged to continue playing however by the sight of a swaying 22 year old on the dance floor holding a bottle of Newcastle Brown aloft.
I forced myself to listen to the full CD but reached for the reject button after track six when it all got too much. Just as the song finishes, a voice can be heard from the audience.
"Gerroffyershite"
Surely not? Mind you, I was a crazy cat in those days.

Diversity

If I am to pay this blog the full attention my readers demand, I have decided that I need to spread my wings a little and cover more diverse subjects. Unfortunately, this will mean that visitors to MV, who are expecting advice on growing food may find subject matter that thet are not prepared for.
Consequently, the warning (Nothing To Do With Veg) on the left will appear every time I veer away from the allotment and onto more mundane subjects.
Thankyou for your patience.

Out of Retirement

Twenty five minutes after Joyce Gibson retired as landlady of the Healing Cauldron, the shopfitters had moved in, ripped out every piece of furniture including Tom Harvey's five-legged stool, removed all evidence of the 1997 championship gurning team and installed a 'customer friendly, interactive product dispensing unit' (a new bar to you and me),
Joyce looked on from her new bungalow across the road, having saved as many of the pub's keepsakes as she could. The Reg Varney signed photograph and the Lincolnshire Police Unarmed Combat Trophy were safely mounted on her sideboard, as was the log end dartboard, imported from Burkina Faso with its Dioula numbering which had foxed many visiting dart teams.
Joyce had resisted change in the pub for nearly twenty years. A jukebox, installed at the height of punk, developed numerous faults which the engineer failed to rectify. After his seventeeth visit in a month, he returned with a van and carted it away much to the relief of the regulars and the dismay of the village's burgeoning punk movement.
A fruit machine was 'accidently' left out in the rain after the summer fete. When the engineer opened up the back, the coin store held several dozen washers, enough centimes to buy you a decent sized baguette and what appeared to be a metal ruler cut into pieces. Needless to say, the fruit machine ended up wherever the jukebox disappeared to.
After a while the brewery gave up trying to modernise the Cauldron for any attempts to do so were met with Luddite-like determination from Joyce. They decided to bide their time till she was out of the way. When that day came, Joyce said "It was as if they were waiting round the corner for me to leave". It certainly appeared that way and I was reminded sharply of Joyce and the Cauldron (now a pop-in centre for alcoholic teenagers) just a few days after I'd decided to retire as Mystic Veg.
You will recall that I have a great love for Oldham Athletic which stretches back over 40 years. In that time, I have become something of an expert on the club and my opinion has often been sought on a good number of issues regarding the little team from the foot of the Pennines.
My opinion has not always been welcomed by the club and I am reliably informed that the people in the corridors of power at Boundary Park, sit with bated breath after they've made certain decisions, just in case they incur my wrath.
The news that I was to retire set wheels in motion at the club like never before. Shocked fans were suddenly told that the club intended to move from its Boundary Park home and relocate several miles away in Failsworth.
The biggest shock for many was that Failsworth has a Manchester postcode but I was content to overlook this in order to see the club progress and I have to admit that a visit to Boundary Park is hardly a pleasant experience given its crumbling terraces and Third World toilet facilities.
What did knock me for six however was the news that the new stadium would be built on a 30 acre site that housed fifteen allotments.
It was not difficult to see why the club had wanted me out of the way before announcing this and a few phone calls on my part soon mustered opposition to the plans.
Rather than voice my disgust, I let nature take its course and before long the club were being attacked from all sides over their plans.
A week had hardly passed before the phone rang and the familiar voice of the Chief Executive began pleading for my help. After letting him grovel for a few minutes I told him that instead of trying to placate the aggrieved growers with promises of twenty new plots elsewhere, he should be showing that he understood their objections and would work with them to try and settle the matter amicably.
In short, the club should involve itself with them so that they become friends instead of enemies. The CE sighed with relief, thanked me and promised to do something positive within 24 hours.
The next day, I scanned the Oldham Chronicle for signs that the club had perhaps invited all concerned parties to Boundary Park for a 'softening-up' lunch or distributed free tickets for an up-coming game but there was nothing until I reached the sports news on the back page.
It appears that the CE took my advice too literally. They signed a player called Marrow.
I suppose it's a start.

Retired

All good things come to an end they say and after much soul searching, well not that much to be honest, I have deided to retire Mystic Veg in order that other people on the Internet waiting list can take my place.
There are a good number of people I could pay tribute to but I am going to save my thankyou's for just one person - Nora Clark.
Nora has voted for Mystic Veg every day on FuelMyBlog even though we have never met.
My very best wishes to you Nora, who knows, I may return one day and you'll be the first to hear about it.
Fond farewells to you all.

Mystic Veg xx

Damn the expense!

There's no money in vegetables, unless you count the £5000 Alderman Hickey managed to secrete in one of his prize marrows to hide it from the bailiffs. People often say "why do you bother to grow vegetables? You can buy them cheap eough at the local supermarket."
They're probably right, but cost is not the main factor when it comes to growing your own food. Knowing where it has come from is my main concern and I would have to be desperately short of money to set up a stall to sell the stuff - I leave the selling of produce and all its inherent risks to the big boys.
That does not mean that I can afford to put my feet up and live off the money I get for personal appearances and the like. In this day and age, it is wise to get work while you still can and I am pleased to say that there are more than enough people in these parts who are willing to pay that little bit extra for a 'personal touch' to their gardens.
I am lucky to know one or two local landowners who wouldn't dream of having anybody other than yours truly trimming their hedges and mowing their lawns.
One of my regular clients, who prefers to be known as Hoggy had a rather large job he wanted doing some years ago. It appeared that the local council was going to serve him with an ASBO for having a hedge that was blocking the view of his neighbours. Given his high standing in the world of politics, he rightly considered that the press would have a field day should the story unfold.
I promised him that the hedge would be gone by the time he'd returned from his weekend in Dublin and I popped round to get Juris and Ludis, the Latvian twins who work for cash and don't ask any questions (possibly because they don't speak a word of English).
Given the size of the job, we decided that it would do no harm to dump the trees in Hoggy's moat rather than drag them off to the council tip. On his return, Hoggy was obviously delighted and also handed me a cheque from his pal Alan who I'd done a bit of work for previously.
I didn't hear from either of them for a couple of days but then Hoggy phoned me with another job. It turned out he wanted his moat cleaning out and was happy to pay me £2000. Obviously I didn't mention the trees that we'd dumped in there.
Once again, Hoggy was delighted with the work and as I pocketed the money for the job, the last thing on my mind was that the transaction would end up splashed all over the front pages of the newspapers.
I can understand the disgust of the country over the MP's expense claims but when I bumped into Hoggy yesterday I had to tell him that despite my sympathy over his predicament, I was sorry to say that the £2000 was long gone, and I hoped that the general public wouldn't be beating a path to his door to demand the money back.
"Don't worry about that old friend" he said, "that's what the bloody moat is for".

Row, row, row the boat

It's not often that I feel the urge to champion someone under the age of 55 and I cannot remember ever singing the praises of a 23-year-old but there is a first time for everything they say and given the wretched state the Nation's youth appear to be in, I can console myself with the thought that it is unlikely to happen again for some considerable time.
I guess you may already be thinking that I am about to sing the praises of a certain Oldham Athletic footballer but you couldn't be further from the truth.
I am, at heart, a landlubber. The seas, oceans, rivers and lakes of this world hold no interest for me and the last time I attempted to steer a craft across water was on Alexandra Park Boating Lake, many, many years ago. The experience hardly encouraged me to become Oldham's answer to Thor Heyerdahl.
I can safely say therefore, that I have the utmost respect for 23 year old Sarah Outen from Oakham in Rutland who is currently attempting to become the first woman and the youngest to row 3,100 miles solo across the Indian Ocean from Freemantle in Australia to Mauritius.
Her story came to light on the Radcliffe and Maconie show on Radio 2 when she was interviewed aboard her boat, 20 days into her journey.
If you visit her website you will see that she is a pretty determined individual and it would be delightful to think that her drive and resolution might rub off on some of the sallow youth who hang around outside the local Co-op trying to get someone to buy a bottle of cider for them.
I promise to get back to the vegetables soon!