This is one of the reasons why I love living in the country. We were out on a walk this afternoon, it being glorious weather*, and we stopped to pass the time of day with a chap chopping up wood in the bit of land near us which had been recently felled. I asked if he was planning to take it all – because there was a mountainous pile of rooted up tree stumps and other brash behind him, and he only had a small trailer – and he replied, ‘why, would you like some?’
Well, of course I said yes, and he very kindly left us a pile of smallish birch logs to come and collect later when he had finished. So once he had gone we set out to go and pick up our stash. Now here’s where the Londoner in me comes out. The other half suggested taking the car, but I was a bit reluctant because while casually going and picking up a few bits of wood felt okay, loading up a car boot full did not. And even though a man with a chainsaw had said it was okay – and who’s going to argue with a man with a chainsaw? – that was going to sound a bit lame if anyone came along and demanded to know what we were doing, seeing as how the man with the chainsaw had gone.
Of course in the end it was fine because nobody saw us because nobody was about. Nobody ever is. But even knowing that, I can’t get past that paranoid London feeling that somebody, somewhere, is watching what you’re doing. In London, of course, they are, although they probably don’t care. But out here, what are they going to use, squirrel-cam?
And besides, seeing as I then go and blog about it, why would they bother?
Keep your guesses coming in the great bucket mystery. I’m off to start a fire and go sit as close as possible to it as I can