The compost pongs for thee

Okay, so for completely non-allotment-related reasons, I'm in a horrid mood this Sunday. But still, after swimming and Sunday roast lunch with a friend, the allotment still calls.

As expected by myself and Louise, Sarah is definitely pulling 3 times her weight so far, in terms of hard graft. By the time my family got to plot 20, Sarah and hers had put in 3 hours worth of digging, sorting and ground covering.

The biggest news today was not that we managed to box in our first plants . . . . (although it felt great to see cucumber, sunflower and pumpkin plants finally go into the ground). Or that we got the back "acre" completely covered in grass seeds (fingers crossed for that bowling lawn).

Not even when our neighbors across the way came over to complain that one of our dogs had "fouled" their grass (way to make a great first impression!!). No, the true event of the day was the overpowering aroma that hung like a blanket over the allotment. The smell that reminded me mostly of the cheese knowns as Stinking Bishop. The smell that even kept the DOGS away from the area it was malingering from. Yes, it was the compost next door. Which happens to be right alongside the best wall in the whole lot to grow things in.

What was in it? I'm not sure I could say. When we were there yesterday, there was no sign of the owner of plot 19. And when we came today, they had obviously already been and gone. And, apparently, left a huge pile of festering vegetables and meat remains right on top of their compost box. Which leaves us in a funny position.

If Owner 19 is going to continue to leave super stinky garbage on the exact wall we intend to spend much of our time, I don't know what we can do, especially as one of the main values of Allotment Living is to make neighbors with a peaceful, green-loving, yogurt-knitting folk. Eek.