This is a post left over from when Loose and Leafy was a work of fiction. Later, it evolved into what it is now - a blog about the wild plants of the South Dorset Coast.
To make sense (in so far as there is sense) of these early posts, you may like to take a look at Esther in the Garden.
Blogger has changed much in recent times. I'm not sure if the odd formatting on this page is because I was new to things then - or because flaws have crept in over the years.
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Iceland, it seems, is bankrupt. Friends suffer - and suffer with equanimity. I, none the less, am laying claim to a bad morning. It's all because of landlines and routers; it's down to unhelpful providers, absent
plumbers and overflowing overflows.
So . . . I went to vent my anger on the world. No call centre workers being attacked by mad axe-men, unfortunately. No plumbers' secretaries falling down drains that I could see. Maybe I was in the wrong place. Another failure. So I switched to the grey day - bare trees where leaves have skipped autumn; dull skies, drizzle. I hoped for a storm. I would have coped better if Ceres hadn't lost three coats in as many weeks. If thunder had sucked anger from Dorchester on my behalf, I might have listened in a more friendly way to Esther. This morning, she struck up a monologue about not having the right kind of paper and has been in and out of the house all day with updates. I'm not interested. Thunder? Lightening? Rain? No. The coast looked promising. But the sun came out. On the other hand Mrs Rustbridger's dog bit the heel of Sam's shoe. His teeth went all a judder. Sam wasn't hurt but he dropped six pints and charged them to Mrs Rustbridger. Knowing that helps.
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