The doors to the pavilion were open and the old-fashioned curtains flapped in the breeze. The table in the centre of the room was heaving with chocolate; we had all donated small chocolate eggs to be won as prizes and the committee had supplied a giant egg for the overall winner. I sipped my tea and chuckled to myself at our esteemed chairman and treasurer squabbling over everything from where to hide the clues to who was going to explain the rules. I was ready for a drink after an hour on my plot; I’d hoed diligently between the vegetables to remove the weeds and checked the netting for infiltrators. A week after Seedling Swap Sunday and, touch wood, everything was still alive. The straight lines and right angles that I had envisaged had all but disappeared, but I was getting used to the pretty patchwork effect created by small quantities of each variety. Anyway, there was only one mouth to feed in my house, large crops would probably just have gone to waste and I couldn’t imagine the kitten would want to join me in a bowl of lettuce.
