Butt

I often say I want to put my head in a bucket. Well, today that was tested as I had snapped off the handle on the rainwater butt so I set about trying to fix it today.
I drained off all the water (it was full) and gave the garden a good soaking. Then I disappeared into it as I tried to grapple with turning the screw cap inside whilst, at the same time, trying to stop the tap rotating on the outside. Gymnastics required and the heat inside was something else. Then I took the chance of cleaning it out.
Off to town for a replacement... B&Q, Screfix, Toolstation ... ‘oh, no guv, you can’t get those without buying the whole water butt kit’ (or, just, no we don’t have them) ... sigh ...
Then I thought ‘Relph’s’ ... and yes, she rummaged around and found something that should do the job, more or less, for a few quid. Good ol’ Relph’s.

Then I bit the bullet and went back to the old place, checked the post and finally posted my keys through the door.

I saw that Eileen was back ... well I heard her distinctive cough behind the hedge and was amazed how quickly I recognised it. Then I met M with her dog that I call Yoda and we had a long catch up. Mrs Veneering has been back at her friend’s for months, the police have been called out to their place in Pitlochry and to the Boathouse when the have been back here. Sigh.
Much sadness at the disintegration of my old place.

I went for a walk and cranberry spotting on Barton (extra), bravely went in to Pooley Bridge for an ice cream, and then I headed home and jumped back in my bucket and got it all fixed and ready to go again.

The Moment - Margaret Atwood

The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this,

is the same moment the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you
like a wave and you can't breathe.

No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.

Postscript - just watching Nina Simone’s live performance at Montreux in 1976. A difficult and moving watch.