'Peas' of cake

‘Planting peas!’ I whooped ‘Yay, count me in’ mistaking an announcement that a friend was going to be doing some earth turning in the morning for an invitation. I was more concerned that such a minor task could provoke some enthusiasm. Perhaps it was true what they were saying after all, that I did need to get out a bit more… but we’re diverging a bit here. And so there I was at 6 o’clock the next morning clad in high heeled boots and pin striped trousers clutching a tin foil wrap of egg sandwiches for when I got a bit peckish after the hefty work I was anticipating. I was already sweating at the thought. My friend looked me up and down ‘What?’ I queried ‘Too city girl for you? Hmmph, I’ll show you!’ He followed me into the field shaking his head. ‘OK take this’ and he handed me a hoe; it felt heavy. ‘Work your way down that hill digging out small holes at regular intervals. When you reach the bottom, do the same going back up hill. I peered down to where he indicated, hardly able to make out where it ended. Hmm, this is definitely going to be more than an hour’s work and tutting, I set off, big clods of earth sticking to my shining boots, making walking just that little bit more difficult. I applied myself with dedication and wondered why the hoe kept getting stuck leading to violent wrestling with afore-mentioned implement. By hole 4, I was ready for a cuppa and an egg sarnie but not wanting to appear weak, carried on toiling. Every time I looked up, my companion was in a different place, easy competition for a conventional plough. A twinge of envy welled up inside. By now, my back was aching and I racked my brains trying to remember if my E111 was still valid – might need a bit of treatment on that back at some point if I carry on slaving away like this. ‘OK now sprinkle about 4 or 5 of these seeds into each hole and cover with dry soil’ was the next instruction. ‘Cheap labour’ I muttered ‘it’s always the foreigners that get exploited round here’ and I started to drop the beans into the holes. After a few minutes, I heard a shout ‘What are you doing?!’. I looked up startled. ‘Counting the beans’ I answered. My friend sighed ‘Just sprinkle a small amount in. Doesn’t have to be exact, if not we’ll be here all day!’. I turned round and discovered I had done 4 holes so far – 20 minutes had so far elapsed. I frowned. ‘That works out at 5 minutes per hole’. That can’t be right. I dismissed the surprise news and carried on with my task. After my first row, I announced I was going for a quick break and scooted off – as quickly as one can scoot with half a hectare of earth encasing each boot. I then perched on a rock overlooking this quaint scene and whipped out my sandwiches; the smell of eggs wafted around as I sighed contentedly, taking in the stunning landscape. ‘Ah, the taste of country life!’ I sighed, marvelling as my companion carried out the rest of the hard work, joining me an hour later then proceeding to grumble about how I’d volunteered to help out then left him to do all the hard work. ‘Moral support!’ I reminded him indignantly holding out the last of my egg sandwiches…