Dad’s Polytunnel

At the age I am, never did I expect to be contending with a new rival for the love and attention of my father. But then never did I expect to be on my second glass of midweek wine while I wait for my dinner, chicken nuggets and chips, to cook in the oven. We all make surreal life choices.

My dad’s got a new polytunnel out the back. Mum says it’s a monstrosity, I say it’s because we’re on lockdown but dad says it’s something he’s always wanted to do since Autumn (when one of his customer’s mentioned it to him). So that’s all that matters.

One of the agreements dad made with mum was that he’d place the tunnel somewhere out of view from the back garden. After a lot of ‘discussion’ this was the agreed spot, although mum still moaned that you could see it from the Dovecot patio. Mum didn’t get why I was laughing, and then I then took this photo and laughed even more.

Polytunnel in the Field

Quite literally the most middle class, Cotswold, fiasco to happen since…well, ever.

Dad had the tunnel delivered days before the UK lockdown (23rd March 2020) and then two weeks’ later had a further delivery of wood to build up the raised beds inside. He proudly claimed he was doing a good job of self-isolating, whereas I pointed out making other people deliver water irrigation systems and bamboo poles for his new hobby was, once again, another very middle class response to avoiding non-essential travel.

I’ve commented that it looks more like the pop up hospitals they used for Ebola cases back in 2016 and from that mum has decided it’s going to serve as a self-isolation unit if anyone, aka dad, gets sick.

Not like he has a problem with hanging out down there at the moment, he’s gotten very much into planting his seeds and herbs.

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Mum’s justification of the self-isolation polytunnel was further heightened when dad took power and water down to it, making it easier for him to grow produce without having to traipse up and down the length of the garden to utilise the outdoor water tap. The raised borders were completed shortly after that and seed-planting followed swiftly afterwards.

Here is a tour of the polytunnel I made dad do.

The cats have yet to make a formal decision on where they stand with the large tube of plastic in the back field. Given what we know him to be like, I’m convinced Bubble sees the whole thing as a 5-star, deluxe toilet facility. Glastonbury VIP++

Bubble in Polytunnel

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The polytunnel must have been up about a week when mum charged into the dining room to disrupt me in the middle of writing.

‘You have to see what your father is doing with the polytunnel!’

‘What?’

‘You have to go and see!’

I sighed. ‘Right, better go get some shoes on I guess. Not like I was focusing on something else. If I go all the way out there and find it’s nothing…’

‘You have to go and see!’

‘Yes, I got that part. Goodness me.’

So I made my way all the way down to the back field and found dad was digging a trench. The polytunnel wasn’t enough it seemed, he’s now growing raspberry canes as well.

‘Don’t you want to get up and running with all the things you’ve go planted already, dad?’

‘I’ve always wanted raspberries. My father used to grow them when I was a child.’

‘Right. It’s just you’ve already got a lot on the go here, the polytunnel is twice the size mum thought you were buying…’

‘When I have my massive bowl of raspberries I’ll remember you said that!’

‘Well…’

‘Have you seen what your father has done, Alice?!’

‘Hi mum. Well yes, I’m standing by it.’

I took a photo of Squeak sat by the narrow trench and looking in a similar way to how I felt about the whole situation.

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And then the slugs came. Downside of trying to be an ecowarrior (and a little bit too proud) with his compost heap, dad’s version of compost came invested with delightful little balls of slime. Shortly afterwards I found myself making hacking up in my car to the convenience store in the next village to procure a bottle of beer as part of my essential food shop. I was more than willing to help, that was until I found him drinking more of the beer than actually using it to kill slugs.

‘This is surprisingly good stuff for cheap beer! How much was it again?’

‘£1.60.’

‘Oh, you shouldn’t have got it then.’

‘The instruction I got was “please get beer. It’s urgent.”‘

‘No worries, thanks anyway.’

‘…Can you please drink something else?’

Mum once made the fatal mistake of telling him that Tesco used to stock a four-pack of canned beer for £1.00, but now can’t been found on shelves for love or money. Dad occasionally laments the fact that Covid-19 has stripped him of his supply of slug trap booze, making him in a unique position of being able to relate to the average park bench boozer.

Slug traps are still ongoing, with more surreal contraptions coming in the post everyday courteously of eBay. If this economy has any chance of survival then it’s through my dad’s endless purchase history of online shops (in comparison, my grand total of spend equates to a set of new books and a couple of reusable face masks).

**

Mum has given dad a strict two year lease on the polytunnel, if after that time the venture has been a complete failure or dad stops taking an interest in looking after his produce then the whole thing has to go.

It sounds tough, but given my sister and I have fond childhood memories of trying to salvage his dead salad plants from growbags you wouldn’t blame us for being a bit sceptical of his latest venture. He also once bought a rotisserie from a late night shopping channel which never got used. We love him dearly but he’s the biggest impulse buyer in a household containing three women.

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I personally feel that this is very much linked to him being forced to stay at home and needing a hobby to keep him busy. I’ve told mum she shouldn’t complain as much, as him doing this outside means less time of him around the house. I told her it worked for Charlotte Lucas in Pride and Prejudice, after all.

Course, whether dad would be as equally understanding if I’d announced I was spending hundreds of pounds on creating an allotment at this very moment in time, I’m less sure. But heck, if nothing else if gives him something to do and countless hours of laughter from me as it winds mum up.

Long term I guess we will all just have to wait and see…

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