The Long Wait and the Little Windowsill: Six Allotment Hopefuls Growing in Buckets

The allotment waiting list is a peculiarly British kind of limbo. You put your name down, you receive a polite email, and then you wait. In some council areas the wait is measured in years. In others it is a shrug and a promise to be in touch. For people who want to grow something — anything — the wait can feel like a closed gate with a very nice view behind it.

But gates are not the only place to grow. In 2026, I spoke to six people scattered across the UK who are still waiting for a proper plot. In the meantime, they have commandeered balconies, windowsills, fire escapes and borrowed corners. They have grown courgettes in buckets, potatoes in bags, herbs in yoghurt pots. They have learned patience, and also how to apologise to a tomato plant. Their stories have been edited for length and clarity.

Maya, 29, Manchester: the fire escape

“I’m on the list for a plot about a fifteen-minute walk from my flat. I’ve been waiting two years and three months. I know because I check the confirmation email more often than is healthy.

My fire escape faces south, which is the only reason any of this works. I’ve got two courgette plants in those big black buckets from the DIY shop, three tomato plants in grow bags, and a herb situation that has got out of hand. The mint is in a yoghurt pot. It is not staying in the yoghurt pot. I can see roots coming out of the bottom. I feel like I’m living with a very polite invader.

The courgettes are the comedy. You wait weeks and weeks, then you go away for a weekend and come back to something the size of a small dog. I gave one to my neighbour and she looked at me like I’d handed her a weapon. Next year I’m going to try potatoes in a bucket. My mum says I’m mad. She’s probably right.”

Colin, 67, Cardiff: the borrowed corner

“I had a proper allotment for twenty-two years. Then my knees decided otherwise, and I gave it up. Stupidest thing I ever did. Now I’m on the list again, which is a bit like queuing for a bus you’ve already missed.

A neighbour lets me use the south-facing wall of her garage. I’ve got three grow bags with tomatoes, a blackcurrant bush in a pot, and a row of runner beans that are doing better than anything I ever grew on the plot. She says it’s her contribution to the war effort. I say it’s her contribution to my sanity.

The thing nobody tells you about waiting is that it makes you a better grower. When you’ve only got a corner, you don’t waste it. You don’t plant fifty seeds because you’ve got space. You plant five and you actually look after them. I talk to the beans. Not in a weird way. Just a bit of encouragement.”

Aisha, 38, Birmingham: the windowsill

“I’ve got two kids, a job and a windowsill. That’s my allotment. The waiting list here is four years, maybe five. I stopped counting because it made me cross.

We grow chillies, basil, spring onions and one very determined cherry tomato plant that has taken over the kitchen window. The kids named it Kevin. Kevin is now taller than the youngest. The cat is the main pest. We have lost two basil plants to feline indifference.

The best thing is that the kids check the plants before they check the tablet. I didn’t plan that. It just happened. They get excited about a flower opening. They get genuinely upset when a slug gets in. It’s taught them more about patience than I ever could. And it’s taught me that a windowsill is not nothing. It’s a start.”

Tom and Ellie, 31 and 33, Bristol: the balcony

Tom: “We’ve been on the list for three years. We’ve got a north-facing balcony, which is not ideal, but we’ve got a self-watering system made from old bottles and hope.”

Ellie: “He’s being modest. It’s very elaborate. There are tubes. There was a diagram.”

Tom: “We’ve got courgettes in two buckets, salad leaves in a trough, and a strawberry plant that has produced exactly four strawberries in two years. We ate them like they were gold.”

Ellie: “The courgettes are the success story. We got eight last summer. We gave some to the neighbours. We put some in the freezer. We had courgette pasta for a week. By the end I was looking at them like they were a problem to be solved.”

Tom: “The waiting list is annoying, but I think it’s made us more creative. When you’ve only got a balcony, you appreciate what you can do. We’ll get a plot eventually. And then we’ll probably miss the balcony.”

Fiona, 52, Edinburgh: the community garden loophole

“I don’t have an allotment. I have a half-row in a community garden and a very patient friend who lets me use her greenhouse. It’s not the same. I know it’s not the same. But it’s something.

The waiting list in Edinburgh is long, and I’m not near the top. So I volunteer. I go on Saturdays and I weed and I chat and I learn. Last year I grew kale that was so tough you could have used it as a doorstop. This year I’m trying leeks. I’ve got them in a deep tub. They look like they know something I don’t.

The quiet comedy of it is that I’m a grown woman who gets excited about a seed germinating. I check them every morning. My husband says it’s like living with a scientist who has lost the plot. Which, to be fair, is exactly what I’m trying to get.”

Dev, 24, London: the shared yard

“I live in a flat with three mates. We’ve got a shared yard that is mostly paving slabs and a bike. I put a potato in a bucket in March. It was a supermarket potato that had started sprouting in the cupboard. I thought, why not.

The bucket is now a talking point. The lads have named it. They water it when I’m away. One of them has started reading about soil. I don’t know how it happened. We haven’t got a proper harvest yet — I think we’ve got about six potatoes — but it’s the most communal thing we’ve ever done. We had a ceremonial boiling in September. They were small and a bit weird. They tasted brilliant.

I’m on the list for a proper allotment. I’ll probably be on it for years. But the bucket has been a good teacher. It’s taught me that growing things is mostly about showing up. A bit of water. A bit of patience. And not taking it too seriously when a slug eats your salad.”

The list goes on. The plots will come, eventually. Until then, the windowsills and balconies and shared yards are doing a quiet, stubborn job. They are not replacements for an allotment. But they are not nothing either. They are a way of waiting. And sometimes, a way of growing something good while you do.