It is still dark outside and we, the commuters trudging towards our daily destiny are lit only by the eerie glow of the streetlights, each light leading us closer to the monotony of our work, lamp by lamp, step by step, and it is so easy to write terrible clichéd stuff about place, isn’t it?
You didn’t think I’d given up on this, did you?
This morning I pass a house with a large sheet hung outside the upstairs window. Painted on the sheet in red paint is the legend HAPPY *40TH* BOB.
I see a milk float this morning. This is the first time in a long time I’ve seen a milk float. An actual milk float, pulling up by the side of the road, and an actual milkman delivering milk.
As an enthusiastic but inexperienced gardener I take a keen interest in the front gardens I see on my walk to work. I’ve read that one way of finding out what will grow well in your own garden is to see what is thriving in other gardens nearby. That seems like a sensible notion.
Wait until next year 