A few days ago my 21 year old granddaughter Issie, who lives in Bury, contacted me to ask me if I would like to go to a music gig with her at the Alexandra Palace. She wanted to see an Australian band called Ocean Alley, of whom I knew nothing about, but chuffed to have been asked to accompany her I agreed immediately, confident that I would be on the same musical wavelength as her.

Issie offered to pick me up and drive us down to London. So we set out at 5.30 yesterday afternoon (Saturday) and made our way to a parking spot in Wood Green that she had pre-booked, whereupon we set out on the 20 minute walk up the very long hill to Ally Pally. The view from the top of the hill across London is quite spectacular, it being some 300 feet above the River Thames below. The venue itself is huge. It was my first time there and I was quite taken aback by the scale of the place. We made our way into the large and crowded Palm Court bar at one end of the building and had a drink and ordered a pizza – and very nice it was too. Just as we were about to get up and make our way to the main auditorium one of the bar staff approached Issie and asked her if she knew someone called Darcey? Issie replied in the affirmative. He then asked if she knew someone named Annabelle? Issie looked puzzled and agreed that yes she had met Annabelle. Now you are going to have to keep up here. Darcey is one of Issie’s Bury friends, who went off to Uni in Brighton where she shared a house with Annabelle who she met whilst down there. It turns out that Ali the barman is friends with Annabelle and recognised Issie from a photo on Annabelle’s Instagram page from when Issie went down to Brighton to see her friend one weekend. She only met Annabelle on that one occasion. We were absolutely gobsmacked! What were the chances of that? Of all the bars in all the world….

By the way, I am shattered today. We had a bad journey home as a consequence of a traffic accident where the North Circular road joins the M11, so we had to find an alternate route, resulting in an extra hour of travelling and arrival at home at 1.30am. I am normally in bed by 10.30! I’ll be having my cocoa early tonight.

The first part of my delivery round last Thursday was very sweary. I arrived at Tonia’s house (not her real name) as she was watering some pots in her garden with a hosepipe. Lost in a world of horticultural thoughts and with her back to me she didn’t hear me approach with veg box in hand. As I got close to her I made a ‘boo!’ sound in her general direction. A squeal from Tonia was followed by a couple of expletives – “@$%&”, “#@¥£” as she put her free hand to her racing heart. I had not intended to alarm the poor woman to that extent, and she had every right to turn the hosepipe on me in retribution, but I’m glad that she didn’t. Sorry Tonia (not her real name).

The very next customer was Denny (not his real name). I took the veg box to the rear of the house as normal, and there to greet me was Denny sitting on a low brick wall looking very grumpy. “Are you alright Denny?” I asked cheerfully, “no I’m #@¥£~%& not” he snarled back at me. On asking what the matter was he told me that he had lost his mobile phone, and whilst he thought he knew where it might be he was thwarted in locating it because the range of the cordless landline phone was insufficient for him to call his mobile from it while listening for its ring. I told him not to fret, I would get my phone and would call his number. We walked to the area where he thought it might be – a large pile of freshly delivered woodchip, and I rang the number. Sure enough, from somewhere deep in the pile came the sound of his ringtone. We scrabbled about in the woodchip, but before we could locate it his answering message cut in, so I had to call it again….and again. Every time that we dug into the mound the ringing seemed to be coming from somewhere else in the heap, and it took 4 calls to his phone before we were able to retrieve it. Denny (not his real name) was relieved to be repatriated with his phone, but remained grumpy, and so the non-stop stream of cursing continued until I departed the scene. Not every delivery round is so eventful or amusing.

The pink tinged Discovery apple juice was collected from the orchard last Monday at the same time that I dropped off another 300kg or so of apples to be pressed. I still have lots of fruit to pick, but I gave it a rest for the rest of the week because I had to get on with other things. I will return to picking this week, balancing it with planting, crop clearance and soil preparation. The Discovery juice is quite sweet, particularly when it first tickles your tastebuds, but it has an aftertaste that isn’t quite so sweet. However, if you prefer a slightly sharper juice you are advised to wait for the next batch – hopefully in a week or two.

This week in the shop there is plenty of choice, with pointed cabbages, red kale, Romanesco cauliflowers, broccoli and French beans. Leeks, onions, beetroot, carrots, mushrooms, sweet potatoes and kohlrabi are other vegetable options. I have added Delicata squash (harvested last week) for the first time. The lemons are now yellow, I have Vranja quince, cooking and eating apples, and I am trying out some ‘Bacon’ avocados. It is an earlier ripening variety than the usual Haas, but I have no experience of it so I am only getting in a single box to assess them. Therefore numbers will be very limited this week.

Right, I think that I have spent long enough on this. it’s time to clean out the chicken coops. Have a good week.

Phil