… been shovelling shit. Well, manure, to be exact. This is the sort of thing I used to say back when I had a proper job and the bullshit was metaphorical; the real stuff is harder work (as my arms and shoulders are busy telling me) but ultimately much more useful, as I think I’ve mentioned before. Anyway, we’re finishing up the old pile ready to get a fresh load of ordure and the old stuff, where it hasn’t been converted entirely into nettles is just lovely: chocolatey-dark and rich yet crumbly like a decent brownie. Unfortunately, since yesterday’s rain, it’s now surrounded by a moat of simlarly dark boot-sucking liquid. The only way to operate safely is to stand on top of the pile, slicing downwards through the solid stuff with a shovel and then scooping it out and flinging it into the wheelbarrow.
It was about half-way through this process that I realised what it was it reminded me of. As a child, my absolute favourite pudding of all time was chocolate fudge pudding which was basically a cake, baked in a bath of chocolate sauce. The result was a moist, rich, chocolatey yet crumbly cake in a moat of … well, you get the picture. I think I might have to get that image out of my head before I tuck in with quite such relish again.