The shed

Got a bit carried away today. Started tidying the garden from a purely selfish perspective in order to pitch the tent I've bought for Greece and Mongolia. Once started, however, the enthusiasm continued to the shed and the bins, burning anything that was flammable. Reminded me a bit of when we lived in Berwick.

My parents bought a house that had previously been a shop, additionally they had operated a mobile unit selling to the streets around. The van they had used, an ancient Bedford was rotting gracefully at the bottom of the garden. The previous owners had used it as a chicken coop, Tony and I had discovered ancient eggs in the bales of straw and had learned to keep clear. One night, a very clear and memorable evening, my dad had spent a few hours tasting his new batch of home made wine, and after a brief spell of encouragement from his Dean Martin collection he decided to get rid of the van. How to do this? Burn it!! He ripped it apart, aluminium side panels, wooden framed conversion, ancient unfertilised chicken ovulations, the bloody lot. Mum was a bit worried I think, she honestly thought that he was going to continue on to the neighbours house and their pets. We weathered the storm and the next morning all that was left was the engine block which we buried, it's probably still there.

I did not sink to the primeval depths of my dad but did enjoy the shed and the burning, it's somewhere to work on the cub and to plan.

More later.