A View From (Inside) The Greenhouse; A Load Of Old Rhubarb

It happened again. There I was, minding my own business (trying to kill more white-fly, to be specific) when I heard an all too familiar thud on the glass. I was at the top end of the house, so I was far from sure from where it had originated, so I went on about my increasingly futile neem oil spritzing business and thought no more about it. Having exhausted both the small spray bottle of its contents and my patience with the process I decided it was time to repair to t’shed for a nettle tea break. Stood on the path directly outside the door, precariously on one leg, was a robin. It was obviously a bit stunned and, given my recent(ish) escapades with a couple of our smaller feathered friends I thought it might benefit from my help. An adult robin is no baby wren though and it wasn’t going to be handled by anyone if it could help it. To my surprise, rather than make its escape, it flew into the greenhouse and positioned itself in a tray on the potting table, ensuring it had a 360 degree field of vision. I left it for a minute or two and again tried to pick it up, but it still wasn’t having any and took up position perched on a cane. Any road up, it must have recovered, or at least found its way out, as it wasn’t anywhere to be seen the next day. I like to think that, if it did survive, I played at least a little part in it.

I did hang some of the onions, but this is how they looked cleaned off. Almost half the reds had gone to seed, but there’s still enough “meat” on the few that I didn’t discard to make them useful for soup and the like. The ones that I haven’t hung are nestled in egg trays, on a bed of straw. I think the threat of “soft rot” has been avoided this time around. I doubt anyone in the family will need to buy an onion this side of Christmas, which, in the end,  is what it’s really all about.

There’s little point in bothering to plant the stuff, nurture it to full growth and then not only eat it yourself, but get to share it with family and friends. There are lots of recipes that can be created with a few simple ingredients, and I’m not going to bore you by recreating one, mainly because I didn’t cook any of these things up personally. Some friends of my eldest invited her round for dinner and she provided the veg, delivered to her by her sister who was visiting for the weekend. A courgette & tomato side dish (Provencal style?) was created and served with the buttered and salted steamed green beans, roasted Charlotte potatoes and roasted chicken thighs. Apparently it all went down very well, which was nice. Using a very similar mix I did create a minestrone soup for the first time ever, but that’s a recipe for another day.

The Habanero’s, after last years success, all failed to germinate but it isn’t too big a problem as I do have two large and very productive Scotch Bonnet plants. A chap who lives in the next village has provided me with both chili seed and plants in the past, although these particular plants were from another source. He’s had a couple of operations lately and his focus hasn’t really been on growing anything, but he did pop in to see me recently and was happy to be the recipient of a nice tub of mixed chilies and peppers, including the first ripe fruit from this bush. The turning period’s quite startling really, from glossy green to a vibrant red in no more than three days. I’m hoping there’ll be plenty of ripe ones, in a variety of shades of red, by the next time I post, the chili jam and the pepper and chili relish is scheduled to have a decent bit more heat to it than last years, which was a little bit disappointing, to be honest. I’m hoping to cook up a batch of the relish in the next two weeks, so watch this space.

It turns out that the chap who gave me the jar of honey for keeping an eye on his garden while he was away earlier this year doesn’t just have a hive or two as a hobby, he actually has a nice little “side hustle” (I think that’s what young folk call it) producing quality honey which he sells on once bottled. I don’t know how much my loyal reader pays for his (or her) honey, but it isn’t cheap, so the opportunity to get hold of some from a reliable source can’t be passed up. Interestingly (to me, at least) is the jar of set honey. The beekeeper believes that his charges visited a field of oil-seed rape, a couple of miles from where his hives are located (he tells me that bees will travel up to around three miles to visit a rich source of nectar), which produced this particular strain. It sets hard, like thick peanut butter, but once warmed up it becomes runny and golden. It’s quite possibly the sweetest I’ve ever tasted, but there’s a little more to this particular story later in the piece. Six jars of runny honey, from three seasonal batches (early, mid and late summer) and a jar of set for thirty quid. No complaints here, the order’s already in for next year! You can just imagine Labour politicians getting a whiff of this grand little cottage industry. They’d want the product, but they’d also want to tax the producer out of business. Killing the bee that carried the golden pot around in its honey stomach! Idiots that they are.

Along with the long red peppers, thankfully two of the three plants of these are producing rot free, large healthy fruit, I have four plants producing smaller red peppers. One plant’s called “Lunch Box”, one’s called “Pepper Pot” and the two others, which I’ve grown from seed, remain name less. Me being the rough gardener that I am, I planted the two “named ones” without thinking to put the labels for them in the ground, or even hang them from a branch (which would have made sense) so now I have a selection of four small red peppers, all very nice in their own way, all four being thickly fleshed, low on seed and pithy membrane and sweet to the taste when eaten raw. I’m guessing the one with a bit of a kick to it is the “Pepper Pot” but of course, once I’ve picked a few and got them back to the shed I’ve invariably forgotten (I blame my age) which one is which. Ah well, variety’s the spice of life, and all that, the hotter one will add a little more frissance to the eating experience.

More interesting finds in the carrot patch! For some unfathomable reason (for me, at least), although the pale yellow carrot and the purple carrot seed were planted at the same time, in the same row and from the same packet (Heritage Mix?) the resulting roots couldn’t be more different. The white one does cook up nice (and you don’t need too many for a feed), although compared to the orange variety the taste’s milder and sweeter taste, but the purple ones haven’t really got going. I do intend to persevere with carrots and I’ve promised myself I’ll thin them properly next time, but I’m going to get fresh seed, unmixed for preference. All in all I’m happy with what’s been achieved, given it’s my first proper try.

I don’t think the rhubarb (there are three “patches”) has been too well managed, the stems have remained stubbornly green, but we’re guessing now that we should have maybe thinned them out some weeks ago. Having had one decent pick there are come nice looking shoots now appearing in the centres of all three patches and this second pick, once peeled, isn’t too woody. Maybe we should be getting into it a bit earlier. Any road up, I stewed this lot down (with a dozen or so more stalks) with a little water and sweetened it, for adding to winter porridge, with half a jar of the previously described set honey. It hasn’t completely taken away the tang, but it has to be better than bunging half a pound of refined sugar into the pan. Doesn’t it?

Although it seems to have gone out of fashion, there’s a lot to be said for the phrase “a load of old rhubarb”.  It’s origins as a term of ridicule and disparagement go back to the 19th century. It’s believed to have come about when actors who were peripheral to a scene in a play, but needed to remain on stage, as in a crowd scene, were told to utter the words “rhubarb, rhubarb, rhubarb” to give the impression that they were holding a conversation in the background. Over time, it made its way into the political arena, where “a load of old rhubarb” became something of a go to phrase when speeches, or even responses to questions which were full of rubbish and/or blatant lies were presented to Parliament (and to the citizenry) as heartfelt and honest. These days, examples of people talking “old rhubarb” are daily, if not hourly occurrences.

We’re treated to the puerile and the childish on a regular basis. Who amongst us hasn’t (those of us who watch a bit of telly now and again) seen the Romesh Ranganathan fronted “What has the BBC ever done for us” pastiche and immediately thought, “what a load of old rhubarb”? I know I have. Who hasn’t listened to a politician try to justify either their own, or their parties actions (concert tickets, bespoke suits, VAT on private education, ever increasing energy bills, defence spending, stopping the boats, crime figures, million pound bungs, wallpaper, portraiture, a real BREXIT etc. etc. etc…) and immediately thought, “well that’s a load of old rhubarb” long before it turns out to have been just that? I know I have.

Think of anything that impacts (mostly adversely) on all of us in our lives, whether it be the impact of both legal and illegal immigration on our infrastructure and personal tax bill, natural disasters framed as “Man Made Klimate Khange”, the early release of potentially dangerous violent offenders along with the increase in both rape and other violent offences, the promotion of the “trans” agenda to the detriment of vulnerable and confused youngsters, the exponential growth of the benefits bill, the state of the NHS (let’s not forget Covid here), the mostly peaceful Notting Hill Carnival, and you’ll find a politician, or a media front-person, or some bought and paid for talking head explaining to you, and often making excuses as to why, you shouldn’t believe the evidence of your own eyes, or the research you’ve done to bring you to the truth, because it’s probably “fake news”. You should instead believe them and their justifications as to why life is becoming increasingly less bearable, because what they’re doing is ensuring that, in the future, things are going to get so much better. What a load of old rhubarb.
 

© Colin Cross 2026