Fifty percent of this household are not keen on having fires in the garden. The other fifty percent think they are cool.
I don’t get to have a garden fire that often. Since we’ve been in this house, about 8 years, we’ve had three and that includes the one today.
Before I am given the all clear to light the blue touch paper (actually an old copy of the Norfolk Wildlife Trust publication Tern) I have to;
i) make sure it is after 4pm
ii) visually check that all the neighbours have taken their washing in
iii) the hose pipe is on standby, next to the bucket of sand
iv) two of the three nines required for the emergency services are dialled on my mobile phone
and v) I have to promise to take it very seriously
I’ve been clearing a part of the garden that had become a dumping ground for bits of wood, twigs and branches along with the remains of a previous compost heap structure that rotted away long before the compost it was meant to house.
We have a row of fir trees that were trimmed back a couple of years ago. They have been under most of the other stuff in the pile and so relatively dry. Because of the resin they go up like a bomb, so I have to limit the amount I put on at a time.
I have to say that all the safety measures were reassuring to have in place, but I am glad to report that, on this occasion, they were not required.
I will leave you today with a picture of a lovely bell like flower that has opened for the first time. I have no idea what it is.
I do know that it was a present for a former work colleague and so I will raise a glass of something this evening to Sarah.
That’s once I’ve washed the smell of smoke out of what little hair I have. I also appear to have mislaid my eyebrows…