Now I Know Why It's Called A Nursery.

Tender love and care among others...

Some people nurse a hangover, some nurse a child and some nurse a grudge but Le Bob and I are a tick different. Oh yes, even though we admittedly could own up to a lot of the previous things, Bob and I have just finished nursing a handful of Brussels sprout plants.

Ooh, I can hear you loud and clear...

" My God, these two lead such an exciting life! "

...growing the one vegetable that most of you hate on top of it. We are daredevils indeed!

Bob saw the fledgling plants in spring and with the enthusiasm of first timers, we proudly signed up for this new lot of nursing. And nursing it is. Each and every day we had to water this lot and as the rain is a bit scarce this summer, it meant dragging watering cans to hydrate them.

Granted, it was divine seeing them grow and grow and we nearly passed out with happiness when we saw the first little mini sprouts forming on their stems. For us it was a huge success and we had a few envious looks at how big and strong these plants were getting. They were thriving in our kitchen garden.

Thriving until yesterday that is. Bob had had enough of seeing the tell tale signs of snails trying to pipe us to the pot. He had been threatening to harvest and uproot them for a while, but I had pleaded a bit of patience so that the mini cabbages could get a bit more plump and well rounded.

Well, when Bob has an idea it is nigh on impossible to stop him ( once he cut down the front lot of shrubs with such gusto, that we were in the public eye all through that summer ). I was sitting and reading my book, when in came Bob holding a bowl.

Dejected and disappointed was the only way to describe Bob and to be honest, so was I. There was the harvest of at least four month of nursing. Nursing daily, even imitating Prince Charles and having conversations with them. Our average sized salad bowl was only half full and when we boiled our spoils, it was just enough for the two of us.

One meal only.

Imagine all that water over the months for a plate of vegetables. How many Brussels sprouts are tipped into the rubbish bin after an impossible attempt to make your kids like them?

Oh well, better to nurse a kitchen garden than to nurse a dreaded hangover!

Biggi