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We have lots of clay in the soil where we are. (Also lots of bindweed and briars, but I think weapos;re gradually beating those back.) The patch immediately in front of the still-unfinished conservatory is now also rich in cement, brick dust, and the several bags of Cotswold chippings which we bought at great expense to make it look nice and which the garden-wrecking builders trampled underfoot.

The Countess wants to reclaim it. So, we spent the afternoon filling bags with a mixture of soil and chippings, and digging a bag and a half of horse manure into the rest of the soil. My me hurts, all over, and thereapos;s loads more to do. I have had verbal assurances from EverCRAPest that the chippings will be replaced, but Iapos;ll believe it when I see it.

Tomorrow we have four people coming to give us quotes on replacing our old asbestos guttering. Whether any of them will (a) be itemised, (b) be affordable, (c) actually appear is a moot question. The next door neighbours got it done for sixty quid. The only actual quotes weapos;ve had were both over four hundred.

At least it means weapos;ll be too busy to do any more frodding gardening that day.

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