For the last few weeks, even
the seasons have been packed up into boxes – or have at least passed unnoticed
in a frenzy of sorting and storing.
Except for when I’ve been to the local tip.
There are lots of things I
love about our tip, viz:
·
It’s
not really a tip, it’s a recycling centre which is a laudable and fine thing to
be even if ‘M’off down the tip’ is a far more satisfying thing to yell to your
co-habitees. (Sounds like hard work but really it's just an excuse for a break from lugging boxes about.)
·
You have to go down Gypsy Patch Lane to get there, which is probably one of the dullest thoroughfares I know
but ye gods, it sounds romantic.
·
It
also doubles as a Home of Rest for Garden Gnomes. There are loads of them
crowding the verges and keeping each other company.
·
Each
year it has a (literal) Christmas Grotto to rival anything the local mall can
produce. Which is as fine a marker of
the changing season as my imagination can conjure. One year someone will dump a real live Father
Christmas and the dream will be complete.
No comments:
Post a Comment