A local sussex trug-maker is struggling to keep afloat, trugs are not the height of fashion at the moment it seems - they are a pricey item though which might explain a lot. I have a small one that I keep in the utility room which I throw my gloves into at the end of a stint outdoors.
Contents of gardening trug the other day:
2 pairs crunchy, soil-ingrained gardening gloves
A pink pouch of pink garden twine (supporting breast cancer charity)
A selection of seed packets, some open and spilling seed
Length of wire
1 fish finger
“Ah, I was looking for that” - I swear he is going doolally since he retired. I guess though that it is easy enough to lose track of your fish fingers, you think you have them all in the box but they are itching to get out and in amongst the gardening paraphernalia.
It was in this same weekend that I observed a swan attempting to break into a car’s petrol tank. Some fool had parked it right by this delinquent, over-sized duck’s pond - but it isn’t the easiest thing in the world to wrench off a petrol cap with just a beak so the car-owner was in luck. Not so lucky were the passing motorists subjected a large amount of crevice on show from the road planer, almost visible puckering (not to mention extremely unattractive under-garment).
Another snatch of the mildly odd. Seated on a settee in a small bungalow I am conducting a conversation with a guy in the adjoining porch-ette while also carrying on a desultory conversation with his wife in the room off the other side of the hall-ette. He is sculpting a head for a Medusa, life size and very fine, though he isn’t doing the snakes, another chap will do that. She is collecting together bits of pattern and fabric and pins to arrange for constructing my to-be-ready-for-Easter waistcoat (for Morrising in). It is a tranquil moment of surrealism after the mundane and commonplace arena of work.
Although work does have its moments. We have a new manager. After many years of being led by a formidable lady we now have……….a bloke. And he is a man not a poor excuse for one. Athletic build, gregarious, and doesn’t know how shopping works – he is a breath of fresh masculine air. I have to laugh - every day - when a constant succession of women seem to find themselves drawn to his office, to say hello, pass the time of day, or simply ask….whatever. These women who went out of their way to avoid going near the office in the days of his predecessor are suddenly drawn in there like moths to a flame. My roomie and I listen to the tinkling bells of feminine flirtation and snigger; we are biding our time – besides I prefer to have the opposite sex flocking to MY door rather than the reverse. I suppose that could be why my office is ….quiet.