grey stair-rods, a solid sheet of water imprisoning me indoor with a
shovel and heaps of beetle infested swallow droppings and an owl wee
tideline.
And swallow mum and swallow dad swooping past my ear. Which is nice.
I need it to stop soon - sometime tomorrow Barry the Builder is going to
try to get his van up through the pasture (past the cows) and start
repining the Victorian half of the cottage, and if the ground is too wet
he's not going to get half-way before he slides to a muddy slushy stop.
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