Inspired by the advent of spring sunshine and a glorious solitary day of digging down at the allotment on Tuesday, I suggested that I and my fellow plot-sloggers might throw a family barbecue/picnic at the plot (something I've always intended to do but never quite got round to). Today is the day - the sun is shining and the birds will doubtless be tweeting on plot 57.
And the fox corpse I spotted on Tuesday still needs burying. I've therefore got to nip down early to give it a quick funeral before the sentimental soul who adores anything fluffy turns up and has his day ruined by the sight of death...
I should perhaps take the attitude that gardening and working with the cycles of the seasons should teach the next generation about life, death and regeneration and that clapping eyes on the dead body could be an interesting biological study. However, given the trauma that lost toys from 7 years ago can still sporadically engender to this day, I think a preemptive strike with a spot of deep digging is going to make my life a hell of a lot easier. So, armed with a spade, a stout back, grim determination, a disposable barbecue and a tube of hand sanitizer, it's off to work I go....
what a lovely idea
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