Talking poo

I wanted to have some compost delivered to the plot again this year, but the council have banned anything bigger than a car from the site due to damage to the ridings. They said I could still have it delivered to the gate, but I don't fancy wheelbarrowing a tonne of compost from the top of the site to my plot, so it's back to the drawing board. According to the council, the ridings are too wet, but I think they're talking poo.

My wife then started talking poo. let me clarify; she was talking poo with a lady who owns a horse. An unlimited free supply was promised, so I got all excited and went to have a look.

The pile was located about two miles from home. There was a huge amount of material, about 10 metres by 5, and nearly 2 metres tall. Unfortunately most of it was straw and woodchips. The decent rotted manure was right at the bottom, the owner of the farm told me, and would need digging out. Hmm, two metres deep of heavily packed straw? Well, I bravely dug into the pile, heaving straw out of the way and eventually getting down to some decent rotted stuff. With lots of huffing and puffing, I managed to extract two car loads before I lost the will to carry on. I don't think I'll rush back; it's useable stuff, but needs further rotting down on my own heap.

Some poo

Hopefully someone else will want to talk poo soon.