Struggling with aches and panes at the allotment

I WENT out in the driving wind and rain of “Isha” to catch the little hopper bus over to my allotment.

I need not have bothered. Either it never came, or I missed it, so I begged a lift in Mrs R’s motor car.

It was a must-trip.

After the storm ripped through the valley, I had to check for possible damage to my hillside veggie palace.

It could have been worse, but it was still bad. Gales blew out two of the large top windows of the greenhouse. One pane lay intact in the mud, while the other was smashed to pieces on black plastic covering the potato patch.

This brings to five the number I’ve lost so far this winter. I haven’t replaced those broken earlier. The gap had been repaired with a single piece of plastic, an ingenious gift from brother John.

But that, too, had fallen victim to a previous storm.

Which one, I can’t remember. There have been so many this winter, and it’s by no means over yet.

The greenhouse, donated by pal Mick’s late mother, is living up to my description as the most expensive free gift ever.

It’s already cost the thick end of fifty quid, and could easily double that before we’re finished. Oh well, must look on the bright side. While the rain lifted, I dug up half a dozen leeks, plants that were frozen hard into the earth only last week.

This was more difficult than it sounds, because of the injuries of last week’s fall on the ice.

You forget just how much you rely on different bits of the body.

Well, I do, anyway. I also rely on the little bus, usually so dependable.

I wonder what happened to it?