Tag Archives: Diggers

The World Turned Upside Down

I was a bit rushed yesterday, so sorry about forgetting the title. It won’t happen again.

The big news is that as my swollen finger turned black I decided that it was time to join the number of people who treat the Accident and Emergency Department as a drop in centre. My reasoning was that they’d be empty on a Monday night, and as my doctor or the drop in centre would send me for an X-ray anyway I may as well cut out some of the waiting. Cynical? Yes. Good time management? Also yes.

So, there I was, with Neil Back talking about rugby on wide-screen TV. If this was a rugby blog I’d expand on this to tell you why I consider him a role model. But it isn’t, so I won’t. There were two people in with police escorts (one a rambling drunk and one a rambling drunk with a bare torso) and a group of lads who should probably have had one, plus the general mix of bewildered-looking people with limps, pained expressions and varied degrees of impatience.

I had a couple of books with me, and managed half of On Guerrilla Gardening by Richard Reynolds in the time I was there, making it time well spent. He has a very easy style and I may well write a review later, particularly as he mentions Gerrard Winstanley, one of my favourite historical figures.

Here’s a picture to be going on with. When this blog link appears on Twitter it always looks better with a picture.


Anyway, to cut a long story short, after explanation, manipulation, phlebotomy and a couple of X-rays it turns out that the reason for the debilitating pain, the swelling, the blackening¬†and the embarrassing cries I emit when shaking hands is a total lack of cartilage in the knuckle of one finger. I’m guessing that it’s not a very big bit of cartilage, so I’m feeling like a complete wimp. In my defence I must point out that it’s not just arthritis, but man arthritis, which is a lot worse.

When I finally got to the farm today it was raining and a man came to call.

“Hello,” he said, “I’m from the Council…”

To be continued

Screveton Kitchen Nightmares

I’d love to get Gordon Ramsay down here to sort things out.

Why, you may ask, would I want to unleash a psycho-chef on the poor unsuspecting users of our kitchen. Well, not all, just the one, to be honest.

We’ve always had this view on the farm that more is better. Sometimes it’s about involving so many people in a simple process so that it becomes unmanageable. Other times it’s about wallpapering the centre with multiple posters – the official line is that the more you put up the more people read them. Don’t know what anyone else thinks of this – I tend to think that too many posters cause poster blindness.

Any comments anyone? Am I right (as I think I am) or am I just being a grumpy old man (as my wife assures me)?

Not sure where this bolshie streak has come from. I remember thinking John Ball had a lot going for him and next thing I know whenever people talk of community allotments (as we are doing at the moment) I have started to think of Winstanley.

Let me know what you think – I’m off to check out Billy Bragg on You Tube.