Posted By on 6th January 2016

Despite what Flanders and Swan would have you believe, there is nothing ‘glorious’ about mud.

It is everywhere. Sticky ankle deep in places, slippery thin in others. If you venture out for any length of time you need wellies, shorter trips you can just about manage in shoes, if you pick your route carefully, all of which must be left at the outside door.

Leonard picks his way across the churned up drive like a Victorian lady lifting up her skirts trying not to get her feet wet or her frock dirty.

Leonard fails on both counts and because he can’t leave his feet at the door proceeds to deposit a trail of muddy feline foot marks across the kitchen floor, which incidentally we haven’t finished yet. Happen as well in the circumstances.

The bricks and blocks arrived as expected, along with the rain and tomorrow doesn’t look like it will be any better.

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