I find something appealing about marbles. The irrational but ever-present child in me wants them.
You can get someone else to do the hard graft, but you will not have learned anything about structure.
When it came to returning the soil to the pit, and covering all the wood, there were worms in almost every shovelful of soil.
Years ago in the backwater, where few of us were piano players but some had special dancing shoes (with genuine leather soles, for smooth, smooth moves), a live rendition of Green Door, first popularised by Jim Lowe and revived decades later by Shakin Stevens, was always an excuse to get up and dance with gay... Continue Reading →
One of the reasons I get up every morning, as opposed to curling up in a ball and wishing I could disappear permanently into oblivion, is to walk around the garden and looking at the vegetables growing, and enthusiastically give any of the abundant snails flying lessons, normally into the next door plot, where there... Continue Reading →