There was a brief window in the grey weather… we seized it. I spent a good deal of it contriving to ensure inroads might be made into the weed situation developing in our raised beds (we’ve had lots of lovely rain…). I installed our little sandpit at the foot of the slope – within eyesight, a decent stroll from the nearest nettle patch, on ground flat enough to minimise topples… I kitted my companions out with spades, whipped up a little enthusiasm… then strode off to my task.
How foolish was this Mummy:
Some halfhearted sand flinging by no.2.
Some territorial moments.
A series of determined pilgrimages up the slope.
Sounds in that so very particular pitch from the lower reaches.
Yup, everyone just wanted to do ‘the mummy digging’…
Sand? Bah! Dirt wins hands down.
One weeded bed…
…and I guess it doesn’t really matter that half the topsoil ended up in my weed bucket.