Of Cardboard and Steam Trains
Let’s start with the bad news. Despite readers contacting me in their – OK, in their twos – begging me to attend the “Meet The Village” morning and report back, I’m afraid we will be in London (London!) that weekend. The village will just have to lose out. Meanwhile, following the sudden feeling of being Settled In I reported on last time, life has become a kind of “Welcome to Country Living” induction programme. Module One: trying to get rid of cardboard. We had amassed a garage full of the stuff, a mixture of flattened packing boxes and unflattenable cartons that once contained sofas and coffee tables. Immune to the regular cries of “when are you going to go to the dump?” I was determined to find a local tradesperson who would take it off our hands. Meanwhile, I continued to fill the empty boxes with old curtains and expanded polystyrene till we had our own grade one fire hazard right on our doorstep. To find the appropriately qualified individual, I did what every genuine village