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Touring takes it out of you, man. If you want fresh fruit and veg, you’re gonna have to grow your own on a big bus cramped with sweaty dickheads.


First of all you have to remember the tomato is a vine native to South America, it likes it hot and humid. No f**kin’ euphemisms please.


Right! Make sure you’ve got the right growin’ material. Most of you lot will have set up weed farms in your mam’s loft before now, so you know where to get the shit from. If the coach driver gets a bit f**kin’ ‘5-0’ on ya, tell him they’re not actually growbags from Homebase, they’re weed cakes. He’ll be fine, coz he knows he’ll get a cut.


Now, don’t get f**kin’ poncey with your seed varieties. Gardener’s Delight is a good all-rounder, like Jackie Grealish. Little cherry tomatoes are good for snackin’, but f**kin’ rubbish for sarnies and chuckin’ at paparazzi. And your big, fat f**kin’ beefsteaks are only good for mushin’ up into pasta sauce if you’ve gat a w*nky brother that thinks he can cook, or slicin’-up to hula-hoop on your cock when you’re bored and off your t*ts.


Don’t get all weepy either if f**k all’s happenin’ ten minutes after you’ve sowed the seeds. They’ll take a week or so to germinate, so chill your boots, man. When they do, give them as much light as possible during the day, alright? Even when you spark-up, do it over the little plants, but don’t drop f**kin’ hot rocks on them, like a knobhead, yeah?


Keep the plants hydrated. If you’ve used all the water on the bus washin’ your dirty kex, use lager, but let it go flat as a f**kin’ Coldplay album first, toms don’t like their lager fizzy, ok? And don’t give ‘em none of that craft ale shit. You don’t want your beefsteaks actually tastin’ of f**kin’ beef, or whatever shit that’s made from. Trust me, I’ve been there, lol.


Use old roaches to support the stems when brittle and easily damaged, like our kid’s ego. And as the main stems grow, use the drummer’s sticks to support them, that f**ker’s always too mashed to notice. He plays with wooden spoons most gigs.


Using the soil as an ashtray is fine, there’s vital minerals in ash. Just watch out for roadies having a Jodrell in there. You don’t want any of their Neanderthal DNA mutating your crop of plum toms into lookin’ like their actual f**kin’ hairy b*stard plums, for f**k’s sake.


Enjoy your crop, man. Next week I’ll be doing spuds in the sesspit under the bog. At ease. LG out. X


Photo by Rafael Corrêa on Unsplash

The sparkly blue flash of a dragonfly in a back garden has 'wowed' onlookers. But others are less appreciative.


'Bloody typical,' said bees and wasps. 'Here we are, putting on our best stripy jumpers all year round, and those double-winged bastards swoop in for summer and take all the glory. Why isn't everyone petrified of those massive bellends?'


'If those sexy, long-abbed show-offs are let inside, we'll be forced to resort to industrial action,' threatened common house flies. 'And it won't be limited to walking all over sh*t and then trampling across your lunches.'


Long-term resident in the eaves of the shed, A. Spider, was up in arms. 'My self-build web is not constructed to standards which would survive a direct strike. I have enough trouble with those pesky butterflies, but dive bombings from dragonflies as well should amount to some sort of war crime.'


Slugs were livid. 'We're feeling pretty damn unappreciated at the best of times. But thanks for all the salt you leave out for us. Really helps with maintaining mineral levels on hot days when we're really sweaty.'


image from pixabay

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