My drive to work this morning would have been perfect for the opening credits of a spooky melodrama; Dickens, Poe, Conan Doyle would have been in their element. The initially patchy fog intensified, in a spine-tinglingly daunting way, as we approached Exmoor and the garden of the newly monikered Lord and Lady Mantle. All began well and as we set about our work clearing another area the mizzle abated and we felt we were achieving something. Optimism prevailed. We even attempted some amateur archaeogocial exploration. We found what I interpreted as the final resting place of an ancient Celtic king as evidenced by a thigh bone, his precious shield, a golden hoop for a quick post-death game of croquet, and the remains of his store of mead and honey for his journey to the afterlife. Lord Mantle had a different explanation however, the artefacts are apparently as follows: the remains of someones lamb roast (bone), a broken shovel (shield), some smashed crocks (grub), a tent peg (hoop). Not sure what he based these assumptions on. Then a splash, a cry and Lord Mantle leapt into the pond to the rescue. No, and I am sorry to disappoint you, it wasn’t me it was my long-suffering camera. After some delving into the icy deep he found my now sodden camera, raising it into the air like The Lady of the Lake held Excalibur aloft (but obviously in a very masculine way). There had been a velcro malfunction. Still I am truly an idiot. I knew the velcro was dodgy after The Nettles Incident so I should have replaced the pouch. Idiot!
ps It went straight on the aga and is now continuing its drying out at home. The prognosis is not good.