I am suffering for my vegetables. Yesterday, I went up to the allotment to spread some muck and have a wee in my compost bin. I have perfected the art of the slash ‘n’ go; I simply back onto the compost bin and semi-drop my drawers (any frontal flashes can be cleverly masked by a spade). Now it may only be March but my weeds are on the march already. I have eschewed the use of rubber gloves as I need to ‘feel’ my vegetables, make a connection with the soil and relish the manure as it squidges through my fingers. However, without gloves my hands are open to abuse by the vicious stinging nettles that live on my plot. Which is why, I don’t mind telling you that this morning, I am all of a tingle – and not in a good way.