When I first starting writing this gibberish, one of the reasons was that I'd recently taken up an allotment. Six years ago - a little before the mad rush to allotments, I like to think. Certainly before the mad rush for allotments in Chester, as most of the site was derelict.
However, times change, and with the arrival of Thomas, weekends weeding are over. We can't really keep the plot how we want to, and so have decided to let it go. I'm sure Thomas would be put off gardening for life if his first memories were being stung by crouching nettles, hidden thistles down the allotment.
We won't, of course, allow Thomas to miss out on the excitement of discovering the buried treasure of potatoes, picking fresh beans and so on, so will restrict veg growing to those we can grow in borders and small spaces at home. This may mean a return to the sprout-sized cabbage rather than those the size of Alfredo Garcia's head...
Oh well. A sense of sadness but a bigger sense of relief.