On January 28th, more than 80 competitors [some of whom had been revising for at least 5 minutes!] filled Tacolneston Village Hall to boost the funds of Forncett Allotment Association, for a Chilli & Quiz evening. The 14 tables of 6 competitors per table were only too glad to sample the chilli, given that it was close to zero outside. Slow-Cookers full of simmering chilli (including a vegetarian option) were brought in by association members, while others cooked jacket potatoes by the score.

Clare Aldus ran a raffle during the evening, which had eleven prizes; John Wilde was the master of ceremonies, question compiler and question master, assisted by his wife, Margaret, the Chair of FALGA; our tame paparazzo [Su Leavesley] was recording the event with her camera.

We moved to Norfolk in the 1970s so that we could drop out, tune in and grow our own food. The Good Life was on the telly and we had all the latest books on self-sufficiency, what was there to stop us?

Well the mortgage for one thing; and bills for this and bills for that. Life got in the way of living. The garden wasn’t amenable to growing veg and I wasn’t amenable to going out after dark to search for half a dozen slimy sprouts. So we let forty years pass by until we were retired. By this time there were mutterings around the village of Forncett about allotments – or rather the lack of them. What few there were had been used by just one or two people for years, also two were being used by the playgroup as a safe play area.

Cigarettes nil (not all that surprising because I don't smoke, but felt I should mention it as a sort of homage to Bridget Jones.)

Weight – let's talk about that later.

Hours worked; about two, and I intend to be honest about that – honestly!

The allotment field is a mess: there is no getting away from it, and anyway my pride won't let me. I am 62, overweight, unfit and genetically lazy. I cannot tie my shoelaces with any dignity, and once I am on my knees I can't get up.

So this is how it starts.

Weather warm; breezy; dry; not bad considering 

Cigarettes nil, although there have been so many little bonfires on the allotment I came home wheezing like a 60-a-day-expert.

Weight –a bit less! Look after the ounces and the pounds will take care of themselves – yeah, right!

Hours worked; about two and a half

I say session 2, actually I have been twice since the first time, but if I call this session 4 you will be scratching round looking for missed episodes.

Weather warm-ish; breezy; rain threatened (or promised, depending on your attitude)

Cigarettes nil; today was Rotovator day, so a blue haze of smoke hung over the field and the smell of fresh wet petrol from a disobedient engine permeated my clothes and hair – nice!

Weight –a bit less – but only ounces! And most of it water.

Hours worked; about two multiplied by two people equals four.

The time when – traditionally – you start work in earnest. Plant spuds on Good Friday, really get to grips with things.

Weather: I heard that chit-of-a-girl on the news on Easter Thursday; she prattled on for a full ten minutes, all of which could have been précised in one sentence of three words, 'lousy until Tuesday', and for once she was spot on.

Weight; no Easter eggs or chocolates received, so I remain hopeful

Hours worked; about two,

I didn't actually visit the plot per-se, as it was either raining; or just had been; or was about to. I stayed home and did things in the potting shed instead.