I am an ardent devotee of the late, great Geoffrey Hamilton. A champion of organic gardening, recycling and make it yourself, long before the rest of us caught on. He also had very nice checked shirts. He would have been very proud of me today and not just because I had my checked shirt on.
The path to the middle composting area is never dry but at this time of the year in parts it is the consistency of a marshmallow/sticky toffee/quicksand combo. The route is much used and each trip is becoming increasingly interesting, with our extreme wheelbarrowing skills being sorely tested. We usually cover it with wood chip which alleviates the problem for a while but as we are yet to have a delivery this year we were a little flummoxed as to how to improve the quagmire.
Let us move to another part of the garden where Bossman is merrily chainsawing wood into manageable pieces for the woodburner. My eyes lit up (when it was safe to approach) at the pile of sawdust he had produced and bagsied for the problem path. What I have failed to mention was that Bossman was half way down the hill and the tarpaulin that the sawdust was sitting on had suffered a job inflicted hole. It seems like ages since we have transported a heavy, awkward and unlikely object up the hill but myself and Hero struggled and rested and pulled and shoved and left a trail behind us. As always we got there in the end. The sawdust did the job perfectly and we made use of something that would otherwise have been discarded. It looks very jolly to boot. Mr Hamilton would have approved.