Yesterday morning I had a very enjoyable few hours working in Mr and Mrs Bun’s garden. The weather was fair and we achieve a lot. There was cake and coffee from Mrs B, a chat with Mr B about Munroe climbing and cuddles from Bobbie. All was well in the world and off I went with a cheery wave and a trug full of left overs from Mrs B’s always generous seed sowing.
Five minutes later I was ringing their door bell.
The road through the village is narrow, as indeed is much of my route home. The recycle lorry had met the Travis Perkins truck in a particularly challenging part not far from The Bun’s residence. Inbetween and behind were a queue of bemused/panicked/impatient holiday makers. As I put my tools back in the car a hopeful lady wondered if I was going her way as the bus hadn’t turned up, stuck somewhere down the line no doubt. Sorry, I said, I’m not. I considered my options: a) join the hubbub and find out who wins the battle between Godzilla and King Kong, or b) fall at the mercy of the The Buns for a cup of tea and a chat whilst the gridlock sorted itself out. As discretion is definitely the better part of valour I naturally chose b).
After half an hour and a nice cuppa all was clear. Well apart from a family of wobbly cyclists, the Travis Perkins truck returning the other way, the sat nav unfortunates and a tractor. Simple.