Made of Stone.

Some people collect stamps, or cards, or fousty things in their veg drawer. Me? I collect stones. All sizes. But I’m picky. These aren’t just any stones, these are hand picked. Each one specially eye catching to the beholder. No, I don’t work for M and S. But I’m not lying. Each one is picked, pulled, or prised from a specific area (the space the pigs ploughed last year, the section of the chicken area that got ploughed). Each one has caught my eye saying, ‘Pick me, pick me’ in the stone variety version of Donkey from Shrek.

Little and often works best. And not focusing on the task itself of picking stones. But on what you’re planning on making with them gives the satisfaction (because really, picking stones is a lifetime job and fruitless, unlike the hobby of collecting fousty veg. No wait, that would be fungus, rather than fruitless if Ibtook that up…). Stone shifting is the daytime TV programme task on its 758th repeat. So where am I rolling my stones to? First space, the polytunnel. Yes, a bit odd but I’m doing a mini Calum (I am never going to hand make a road like him, but great book) and making a mini path (rather than a road) around the raised bed.

I have a wee ways to go. But Rome wasn’t built in a day. But I’m running out of stones.

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