You can tell by her arms that she has been shifting compost delivered earlier in the week. It's like Carol has been sinking her arms into the stuff. It has taken her two days to fill the tyres, the first day was a blazing hot day and Little D insisted on helping. You can see his help in the photo below, the one where his wheelbarrow has been dumped on top of the tyre and he's walked off the job in a huff because management refused to offer him biscuits at the end. Carol managed to fill six tyres, that's a round trip of around three hundred feet for each tyre, and they take around two barrow loads each. All that, in the sun, with a child on a picket line chanting, 'I shall not be moved, give me a hob nob, even a chocolate digestive will do'. He's the Bob Dylan of the biscuit movement.
The next day is cooler but Little D is still on that picket line. So to the sounds of his chants, 'No biscuits. No work', Carol completes filling the tyres and then we decided to plant the potatoes in them. Three to each tyre. It is then the chanting stops and a little voice asks, 'What you doing?' We tell Little D that we are planting the potatoes, so that in a few months we can have those lovely chips he likes so much. The 'special chips'. We hear a clatter of a discarded placard that reads 'What do we want, Jammy Dodgers!' in his bid to get to the tyres before us. We go from no help to, 'Can I help?' in a split second. He's the Jimmy Hoffa of the picket line. He also eyes up the waiting hose, we know what will come next. 'Can I do that?', 'Do what?', 'Water them?', 'Yes'. He's mesmerised, but still muttering about biscuits, as he helps us plant up the tyres.
The potatoes are planted in less than fifteen minutes, the plus side of growing them in tyres, no trench digging. Little D is away with the hose before we can stop him. Squirt. Squirt. Squirt. Wet parents. Carol tells him he is watering too much through dripping hair, and he glares at her as if to say, 'I was born to hose'. We should get him that t-shirt.
Little D takes longer to water them than we did to plant them. He manages to get water everywhere, we even hear a sneeze from over the hedge as the water streams over it. He even has time to moan that the hose isn't long enough and he will bring about a world where ALL biscuits will be free to workers and children, and hoses will stretch magically over plants without crushing them. We suspect in this world that parents will still get drenched and neighbours will still have to sit outside on a warm day with an umbrella.
Then there is time for one last cuddle before the picket line beckons again because Mummy has refused his right to biscuits once more. He shrieks but this has more to with the fact that Mummy's arms are covered in compost, and she may smell. His words. Normally, Daddy stinks but not today, Daddy has had an unasked for hose shower.