We’ve been having some work done out the back. No, not a euphemism for haemorrhoids, but your actual huffing and puffing in the soil, the laying hands on bits of stone, chucking pebbles in between, all of the things that me and bargepoles bar mostly.
What it has meant in practice is a skip on the drive. Bloody inconvenient as we have had to shuffle our two cars. But it has to be done.
All sorts of muck has gone into the skip. Mostly gardenish, as previously mentioned, but you do have to advantage. I’ve had a clear-out, including the deceased PC (suitably wiped) and loads of out-of-date CDs etc.
I’d forgotten all about it until this afternoon. There was a knock on the door. I carried on with my email. Silence. Up I got, complaining that no-one in the house could be arsed to answer. And there was this bloke I’d never seen before in my life.
He looked a bit sheepish. “Er.., I hope you don’t mind. That wheelbarrow in the skip. Are you throwing it away?”
Good guess, I thought, and explained that the reason was that the tyre had come off the rim and that I’d tried to get it back (Lord have I tried) without success.
“D’you mind if I take it then?” he said unfazed. What could I say? “Yep, if you must.” He was a Borrower as I live and breathe.
At least he asked. And no-one has for the PC.