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Yorkshire Bylines
Home Society Poetry

“So where are you growing your veg, Tim?”

Steve and Tim discuss the huge possibilities on offer when growing vegetables in your car boot. And tunnels. Catch up with the conversation!

Steve Pottinger by Steve Pottinger
04-03-2021 14:38 - Updated on 25-09-2024 17:44
in Poetry, Society
Reading Time: 6 mins read
A A
Photo by Gabriel Jimenez on Unsplash

Photo by Gabriel Jimenez on Unsplash

Share on Bluesky

Continuing the conversation between Tim and Steve. Catch up on the first nine installments via Steve’s author page.

 “What you got there, Tim?”
 “The future, mate.”
 “Eh?”
 “Spring is coming…”
 “Come on, really…”
 “To everything there is a season…”
 “OK…”
 “Turn, turn, turn…”
 “Are you quoting…”
 “A time to plant…”
 “The Byrds, Tim?”
 “One of the finest folk rock bands of the 1960s, Steve…”
 “If you say so.”
 “But I digress.”
 “You do.”
 “In answer to your question, Steve…”
 “Yes?”
 “I have packets of seeds.”
 “Seeds?”
 “Absolutely.”
 “Never had you down as the green-fingered type, Tim.”
 “Needs must, mate.”
 “I see.”
 “I’m digging for victory…”
 “You are?”
 “I’ve listened to Deadwood…”
 “Deadwood?”
 “This packet will soon be…”
 “I think you mean…”
 “A fine crop of parsnips.”
 “Redwood, Tim.”
 “No, Steve. They’re definitely parsnips.”
 “That’s not….”
 “Impressive though it may be…”
 “You misunderstand…”
 “The sequoia is a native of the Pacific coast…”
 “I mean…”
 “Of North America…”
 “I know…”
 “And not known for its nutritional value.”
 “I think you’ve got the wrong end of the stick…”
 “It’s a dibber, Steve.”
 “Right…”
 “A correctly held dibber, I’ll have you know.”
 “Tim…”
 “I’d have hoped even you…”
 “Tim…” 
 “Would have known that.”
 “Tim!”
 “What?”
 “The man’s name…”
 “Deadwood?”
 “It’s Redwood.”
 “It’s not.”
 “It is.”
 “I think I know Ron’s name, Steve.”
 “John.”
 “What?”
 “It’s John.”
 “When did that happen?”
 “When did what…?”
 “I mean, if that’s what you want to call yourself…”
 “What???”
 “I’ll do my best, of course…”
 “No…”
 “Try and remember not to call you Steve, John…”
 “It’s Steve.”
 “What?”
 “It’s always been Steve.”
 “Is this some kind of test…?”
 “Eh?”
 “Where you change your mind every five minutes…”
 “No!”
 “Try and catch me out…”
 “All I’m saying is…”
 “To show how un ‘woke’ I am…”
 “He’s called John Redwood.”
 “Who?”
 “Deadwood.”
 “That’s the chap. Deadwood.”
 “No…”
 “Anyway, what about him?”
 “Forget it…”
 “What?” 
 “It doesn’t matter.”
 “It doesn’t matter?”
 “No.”
 “Sometimes, Steve, I wonder…”
 “Give me strength…”
 “If you’re all there.”
 “Let’s get back to the seeds, Tim.”
 “Parsnip seeds, Steve.”
 “Yes, parsnip seeds.”
 “Parsnip, not sequoia.”
 “Right.”
 “Nutritional value, you see…”
 “I do…”
 “Being a feature of your root vegetable…”
 “Yes.”
 “Less so in your average tree…”
 “Gotcha.”
 “And while the sequoia may not be average…”
 “Where’s your allotment, Tim?”
 “My what?”
 “Your allotment.”
 “I don’t have an allotment, as such.”
 “Really?”
 “Oh no.”
 “So where are you growing your veg, Tim?”
 “Ta-dah!!”
 “I’m…”
 “Here’s the future, Steve!”
 “Speechless…”
 “Impressive, huh?”
 “It’s a car boot, Tim.”
 “It’s surprisingly spacious, Steve.”
 “It really isn’t.”
 “No honestly, you’d be surprised…”
 “If you can grow a crop of vegetables…”
 “Used to pack everything we needed in there…”
 “In a car boot…”
 “Back when Cassandra and I were, you know….”
 “I’ll be comprehensively stunned, mate.”
 “But times change, Steve…”
 “Uh-huh.”
 “And we needs must change with them.”
 “So…”
 “Yes?”
 “How’s this work, then?”
 “Simple.”
 “Go on…”
 “I’ve got sweetcorn growing along the back…”
 “Right…”
 “Pumpkin over here…”
 “By the nearside wheel arch?”
 “Correct. Next to the dwarf peas…”
 “I see…”
 “Which are by the early crop potatoes…”
 “OK…”
 “Leaving this space here for parsnips…”
 “Hmmmm…”
 “Lettuce, radish, red onions…”
 “That’s a lot of stuff….”
 “And finally, trailing tomatoes cascading…”
 “In a very small space…”
 “Over the rear numberplate…”
 “I don’t know how to put this, Tim…”
 “And down to the ground.”
 “But you may be overestimating…”
 “It’s all been worked out, Steve…”
 “The agricultural yield available…”
 “All the seeds fitted in there…”
 “From a car boot…”
 “More or less…”
 “By a factor of…”
 “I shall be feasting on fresh vegetables….”
 “Say... several hundred?”
 “All summer long.”
 “Right.”
 “In the event of a glut…”
 “A glut??”
 “Excess produce will be available…”
 “Really?”
 “At very competitive prices.”
 “Oh, Tim.”
 “Mother Nature’s bounty, Steve.”
 “Tim?”
 “Yes?”
 “Where’s the soil coming from?”
 “I thought you’d never ask.”
 “You did?”
 “I’m digging a tunnel.”
 “What???”
 “Several tunnels, in fact…”
 “Why?”
 “To the shops…”
 “I mean…”
 “To the pub…”
 “It takes five minutes…”
 “To the football…”
 “To walk there…”
 “As Spaffa said…”
 “Oh, Jesus…”
 “The possibilities are endless…”
 “Tell me Spaffa’s not involved.”
 “He’s got great enthusiasm for tunnels, Steve…”
 “I’ll bet he has…”
 “We’re looking at a tunnel roundabout…”
 “As a distraction…”
 “Ten feet below the traffic lights on the High St.”
 “And how far have you got, Tim?”
 “It’s early days yet, Steve…”
 “Which means…?”
 “We have, to date…”
 “Yes?”
 “Completed sufficient excavation to…”
 “Go on.”
 “Er… fill a car boot…”
 “I see.”
 “To a depth of no less than three and a half inches.”
 “Incredible.”
 “Like I said, Steve, it’s early days.”
 “And you’ve Spaffa’s great enthusiasm…”
 “Yes.”
 “To see you through.”
 “To be honest, Steve…”
 “Hmmm?”
 “A little enthusiasm would do YOU good…”
 “Me??!!”
 “Yes. Not for tunnels, necessarily…”
 “There’s a blessing…”
 “But a life without enthusiasm, Steve…”
 “Yes?”
 “It’s a life unlived.”
 “I’ll bear that in mind, Tim.”
 “Take Deadwood…”
 “Do I have to?”
 “He’s very keen on fish…"
 “He is?”
 “Always banging on…” 
 “Hmmmm…”
 “About the vital importance…”
 “Right…”
 “Of fish…”
 “So?”
 “So, I’m taking a leaf out of Iceland’s book…”
 “Cod wars?”
 “No.”
 “Bjork?”
 “No.”
 “Geothermal heating for the car?”
 “No.”
 “I give up.”
 “Making the most of natural processes of decay, Steve.”
 “You’ve lost me.”
 “Rotten shark.”
 “No… still not with you.”
 “Hákarl.”
 “Jesus, Tim. I only asked…” 
 “It’s…”
 “No need to bite my head off.”
 “Hákarl, mate. It’s what they call it.”
 “What they call what?”
 “Rotten shark, mate.”
 “Really?”
 “It’s a delicacy.” 
 “Where?”
 “In Iceland, Steve. Do keep up.”
 “Sorry, Tim.”
 “Which is where the trout comes in.”
 “The trout??”
 “Yes, Steve.” 
 “I thought you’d thrown it away, Tim?”
 “Buried it, mate.”
 “Really?”
 “Yes.”
 “I think I see where this is going…”
 “I’m digging it up tomorrow…”
 “You are?”
 “Sending it to Deadwood…”
 “Are you sure…”
 “I see whole new markets…”
 “That’s a good idea, Tim?”
 “Opening up…” 
 “Oh, god…”
 “This could be monstrous.”
 “No kidding…”
 “Sunlit days ahead, Steve.” 
 “If you say so.”
 “You mark my words…”
 “Righto, Tim.”
 “There’s sunlit days ahead.” 

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Steve Pottinger

Steve Pottinger

Steve is a poet, author, and a founding member of Wolverhampton arts collective Poets, Prattlers, and Pandemonialists. His work has appeared in magazines and anthologies, and he’s a regular contributor to online poetry platforms. You can discover more of his work via his website, on X @BigStevePoet, or follow him on Bluesky

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