Digging trenches is whats on my mind. Herewith depicted, a couple of hours starting up digging. I went to Bunnings to get a mattock, my old one was falling part a bit. Trolling up and down the aisles like a lost groom, I ask two young Bunnings operatives Can you show your mattocks, plea? and the almost entirely reasonable reply, What do you mean mattocks? I explained Its a kind of axe with the blade turned 90 degrees to the face, for loosening the soil. and the response, Is it a brand name? at which point I was getting a little edgy, No, its a utensil, a tool, a thing that we use to break up clay soil. Anyhow, turns out we standing almost next them on the shelves, so I bought one. When I dig trenches, I tend to muse between trenches from history and trenches what I personally have dug. So, I think in awe on the first world war, and what those soldiers from all sides must have suffered to dig so deep and complex, then to the second world war and those poor bastards digging out the next to useless Thai-Burma railway. Jeez its bloody hard work. So afterwards, I made the freshest orange juice in the world, feeling very bad about there being no fresh juice of any kind available to those into deadly serious trenching.
Posted on: Sun, 28 Dec 2014 01:49:17 +0000
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