The choice

It’s Saturday morning, it’s sunny, there’s no wind. Half an inch of rain overnight. Perfect soil in the garden for planting.

You have a stack of plants that need to go out: nasturtiums, sweet peas, lettuce, rocket.

But the door beckons. What is behind it? A project of scary proportions.

We have numerous basements in this farmhouse. Some are empty, some are full of useful things like tanks for the boiler, the boiler, wood. And then there is the pandora’s box of hell.

It’s the old wood store. Yes, I’m back clearing out wood.  The lean to was easy as there was only wood of all shapes and sizes.  But this one has what we call ‘matter’. Very Withnail and I.

Wood certainly, kindling definitely, creatures possibly.  And mess.

So out it has come and I will sort it out. But I’m wearing gauntlets, I have a scarf on my head, I’m sniffing and coughing and feeling extremely virtuous.

I will add the small bits of wood (full of nails) to the junk supply for Jean Daniel, clear up the kindling. And even brave that scary corner of pine cones and mess which, in Australia, would host the worlds largest deadly spider population. And possibly a snake.

So I will attack gingerly and try not to bark my head on the vaulted ceiling. It really is rather a fetching basement. Well, it will be once I’ve cleaned it out.