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An unusual object in the road
Busy again yesterday (when am I not?) so by the time I stopped, from exhaustion aided by the heat, I hadn't the strength to write this. I dismantled one of my father's stone-cutting machines so I can now take most of the pieces to the household tip. One bit is too heavy for me to manage. If I can lift it into the boot, I am unlikely to be able to remove it without help. It needs two strong men, not one weak woman.
Yesterday afternoon, while I was out walking, a friend of my mother's dropped round for a chat before she took a taxi home in time to watch ‘the match' as she called it. My mother, not a football fan, thought she referred to a match at Wimbledon. I arrived back as the taxi was leaving and my mother was waving goodbye. She had a small object in her hand which she said the taxi driver had handed to her saying that he didn't want it stuck in his tyres. It was a bullet.
Why couldn't he have thrown it across the road into the bed of nettles like I did? What good is a bullet? Perhaps he thought it belonged to us. It probably was one of the bullets that I found in my father's desk drawer and put in the wheelie bin last week together with a few screws and nails. When I put them in the wb it was full so I flicked them, when I put out the bin, so they fell to the bottom. I was suspicious that the wb man might scruitinise the contents of the bin before he attached it to the wagon, and I didn't want to risk any nails or screws falling out into the road in the process. (When I visit the tip I always look out for sharp objects on the ground; don't want a puncture.)
The wb was emptied on Friday and my suspicions were confirmed; the man lifted the lid, threw out a dead oak leaf (garden waste) and rummaged around. The contents must have passed his inspection so he dumped the lot into the wagon. What have we come to when we have to clean rubbish before putting it into our wheelie bins? There are no oak trees in the garden. The leaf must have blown into the garage from across the road.
Thought for today
I'm not denyin' the women are foolish: God Almighty made 'em to match the men.
George Eliot, (1819 - 1880) Adam Bede (1895) ch. 53
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