Come back "That's Life" all is forgiven (apart from Cyril Fletcher).

Where is Esther when you need her? Learning French apparently, too busy to provide the only consistent outlet for lascivious flora that British television has ever had. I was insulted by this suggestive fruit (oh yes it is) a week or so ago, whilst harvesting my miracle tomato plants.

I don't know whether the insult was intentional, as a response to the glassless glasshouse with which I am fooling my tomatos, or just a freak genetic occurance. If the former I apologise and promise that glass will appear next year, if the latter I can only hope that Ann Summers will soon be opening a grocery section and I'm on the road to riches. I certainly can't bring myself to eat it. I'm afraid the freakish collection of carrots I seem to have grown were beyond the pail and not suitable for public viewing.

Beyond the pail is exactly right as it happens. The latest carrot crop looks perfect, if still a little small, and could grace the shelves of any supermarket despite the anti-ugly stance they all seem to take. The secret? Buckets! Simply cut the bottom off some buckets, stick them in the ground, fill with cheap grow-bag compost and sprinkle seeds. The roots reach down into the ground where the water is and the carrots grow quite happily in a dry, loose and stone free environment. So no forking, no bulging and most impotantly, no suggestive protuberances. To be honest I do enjoy the perverted carrots, they amuse me at the same level as the audible emission of personal gas, the problem is they are a bit tricky to peel, and soil gets caught in the crevices (I also enjoy a double entendre here and there).

Now, Cyril Fletcher. As a child I enjoyed That's Life. I'm not proud but at least I'm honest. The only thing that bothered me about it was Cyril Fletcher and his odes. I can't remember if they where any good but he gave me the creeps, I'm not sure why, and out of respect I don't want to dwell on the matter. In the course of researching Fletch I came across Deathlist which is wrong, but compelling, and reminds me of the White Hart in Rochester, which kept a running book on celebrity deaths. Barbara Cartland was top of the list for years.

I fear I may be turning to the dark side so I will leave you with this confession..the frequency of my blogs is directly correlated to the frequency of my visits to the allotment - so it's not as much work as you may think.