Part Two
Worms are kept in Mrs B`s Wormary, a multilayered rubber tower holding 10.000.000 or more.
"and they all have names." ___
" They do."
I picked out a nice little spot in our evergreen garden to dig,and there were certainly no worms there, as the ground was far to compacted hard in flint stone for them to chew up a way through it. Yes, a remainder of a medieval walls footing! So upon realizing the post digger would never make so much as a dint in it ,i resorted to plan B.
_______________
" no! no! not plan b ?"
i used the last of the special batch of my Beano Boy C4, to blast a hole in this sharp hard spot.
Upon touching it off via electric cable, in that instant showers of sparking splintered flints shot up skywards perhaps to 10.000 feet,this was followed by a tremendous thud-like boom as the sound a split second later reached my ears,right at the exact time the stone floor where i stood rose up a foot and then sunk settling down again.A thick blue blaze of smoke spiraled up from the small 10 foot crater.
Far to much to use,i guess,and upon reflection a wedge the size of a blu-tac packet certainly has re-landscaped our part of Fiddle Wood. The tubful of sugar water tipped in nicely, and trickled down the side where i stood peering over the edge into what appeared to be a smoldering hole 20 foot deep or more. The stuff evaporated safely before it ever reached the bottom. Yes safety first I always say.
Mrs B,who was on the otherside of the house scrapping off Ivy from the white walls,shot down the 23 foot ladder, and came rushing through the house and asked if i`d heard that thunder?___ "No dear,i think it was a car backfiring along the St Faiths Rd." i innocently remarked.
It was then that Mrs B,realized upon looking down that the back door slab of concrete was rather short of having a garden surrounding it ,or indeed ground enough in supporting it.
"Gosh! that sure is some sink hole" ,i said.
BB