☕ Ramblings from the Potting Shed ☕

By Virgil Twobyfour
Keeper of String and Sometimes Tea

Nothing much to report this morning, if I am honest. The world feels very gentle and uneventful as I potter about my shed in search of that bit of string I am certain I put away somewhere safe - probably in a drawer full of other bits of string that all seemed too important to throw away at the time. One never knows when one will need a bit of string, after all. There is nothing quite as calming as a good bit of string coiled up and waiting for its purpose. Maybe it will one day secure a wobbly gate, or tie up a fragrant bunch of herbs. Or simply be there to help you remember that not all knots need to be complicated.

In fact, as I was contemplating the merits of string, I thought I heard the church bell chime eighteen and three-quarters times - which is peculiar, as I am fairly sure I never learned to count that high - and someone shouting what might have been the numbers in Chinese. Probably just my imagination. I am sure whoever rings it knows what they are doing.

Of course, I did catch a glimpse of some movement up the lane earlier - Young Mavis was tearing past at quite a pace, arms crammed with what looked like knitted pigs or hats or something equally lumpy. I thought about wondering what was going on, then decided my tea was going cold and went back to searching for that bit of string I am sure I left under the seed box last Tuesday.

And then there was that peculiar clatter outside the shop this morning - sounded like someone had overturned a barrow of pork pies, followed by what I assume was a chorus of startled geese and the faint sound of someone bellowing “That otter has my candlesticks!” It was all very lively, I dare say, but I had my hands full peeling an orange one-handed, so I decided to leave them to it.

Earlier, I did notice Mrs Porrit whizz past my window at an impressive clip, pushing what appeared to be a trolley bearing her best tea service and laughing fit to burst. Good for her, I thought, and then went back to my teacup because it is most unwise to leave tea to go cold at this hour.

There also seems to be a humming sound drifting across the green - very tuneful - as though someone had taken up playing a hymn backwards on a harmonium powered by bees. That is probably just my own hearing playing tricks again, so I shall not dwell on it. Probably.

And now, as I give one last poke around under my potting bench for that elusive bit of string, a delicious waft of lavender and burnt toast is sneaking in under the door. Curious. Someone must have put on the kettle. I may do the same myself once this is all sorted.

So you see, it has been an utterly ordinary, uneventful morning. Nothing to distract me too much, save for my ongoing search for the perfect bit of string. And if there is one thing I have learned - it is that sometimes the most interesting things happen when you are too busy looking for something entirely different.

Your ever-rambling neighbour,
Virgil 🧵