Today I had another idea for a new book...now whilst this is always good news, it comes at a rather busy time. I am desperately trying to finish the chick-lit book I have been asked to submit the full manuscript for, I am still trying to edit and polish my children's story and there are another 101 things on the go!
On top of all that I have spent the entire weekend revamping my garden. I have re-mortared the patio [yes, I KNOW! ME!], decommissioned a compost bin and bagged all the toxic waste in it which had refused to rot away and singlehandedly confounded the entire bunch of male council workers at the local tip.
You see, after I bagged up nine sacks full of muck, I had to get rid of it somewhere, so I drove to the tip.
"Garden refuse?" I enquired politely and was pointed to the correct metal container. So far, so good. But the railing at the top of the steps is high and I am quite small, so not all of the stuff which then had to be tipped out of the bags, actually found its way into the skip thingy. But I felt strong and empowered so I carried on.
Two bags later, two burly council men came over at a trot [they might have run if they had been able I suspect], faces pale and rather worried looking.
"Er, you can't put that in there!" one of them said, trying to wrestle the bulging black binbag from my grasp.
I found myself holding fast onto the plastic sack much like it was a Victoria Beckham bag filled with Cartier jewels.
"But it's stuff from the compost bin that didn't compost," I muttered angrily. Was it my fault that my ploy to save the earth had not come to completion?
"But there is all sorts in there!" he said, still holding fast to his end of the bag.
And to my shame he dipped his hand in and came out with a plastic crisp packet.
So the question is, since to my knowledge, the only person who ever put anything in the composter was me and since crisps and I are fairly mutually exclusive, who put all the plastic packets in the composter?
Miss Marple where are you when I need you?