Allan Jenkins is convalescing and fretting over his abandoned plot of land
I am currently exiled from the allotment, confined to a room facing our roof terrace, hoping the assorted narcissi and tulip bulbs will soon burst through and admiring the hellebores.
An old injury has returned to haunt me and now I am stuck to my bed like a butterfly pinned to a board, for at least a couple of weeks. I am a bit desolate. Some of my happiness is tied to nurturing a small piece of land and I am not sure that it will understand.
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