I enjoy a drink like the next man (providing the next man is not a teetotaler) and ’twas a fair evening in March whilst enjoying a pint in my local that I suggested that myself and my long term drinking buddies should look into growing our own vegetables. This suggestion was not, I’m happy to say, spurned like a rat in a wellington boot but was received with a few curious looks, two nods, a grunt and a “tell me more!” It could have been so much worse!

“Well” I explained, “I was on the way back from Holland the other day and noticed while I was on train that every town and village that we passed through were bordered by allotments.”

Silence prevailed but I could tell that all ears were pricked. Someone may have farted – I can’t really remember. I continued…

“I think it’s a good idea to grow our food rather than buying all that processed stuff and it will work out cheaper in the long run. How hard can it be?”

How hard can it be?

My friend Fintan was the first to pitch in. “Great idea. Count me in!”

I had a gut feeling that he would agree as he is an excellent cook and had he not chosen his current career path I could imagine him trading recipes and expletives with Gordon Ramsey. I kid you not. He is a lover of fresh produce and like me, often bemoans the lack, if not the price, of fine fresh vegetables. I am not as hot in the kitchen as Fintan is, I do admit but I try.

“It’s something we should look into before we do anything.” said Maurice and Gus agreed. It was time for another pint.

So we did look into it. We looked through it, at it, round it, under it, over it, along it and up and down it like county councilors until we knew more about what we should do about taking on an allotment than a chain-smoker knows about a chesty cough.

All we had to do now was find the right place.