Something on your “to-do list” that never gets done.
The farm I live on has a private lane about a quarter mile long. “How lovely!” You may say.
Pictures like this are conjured up in your mind’s eye. Here’s the reality:
A pothole strewn track with suspension busting craters. It looks like a B-52 dropped its load straight down it.
I used to go out and fill them in….20 years ago. Now I can’t be arsed. It’s not like it’s even my lane. The owner can’t be arsed either apparently….the family use it, it’s their lane. So now it’s relegated to the perennial question:
“Are you going to fill any of the lane in this year?” to which I reply, “yeah, next week, bad back right now.”
So it never gets done. With any luck one of their posh cars will rip itself to pieces down a crater or better still fall in one and fill it up.
Not every big mansion has genteel folk playing croquet on the lawn. Ours is full of yet more holes from when the horses escaped a few years ago, churned an immaculate lawn up and left it for every vole in Lincolnshire to take up residence.
It’s another job that never gets done now. I’m too old and life is too short to go round filling yet more holes in.
My life could be spent filling holes in, especially the lane. When I used to fill the craters in, everyone would use it as a drag-strip for a few weeks until all the gravel had been ripped out and new craters appeared.
So it’s definitely a job that will not get done, not by me anyway.
Next week the local council are shutting the lane at the end, to resurface their half of the pot-hole strewn moonscape. I’ve heard that someone from the family is going to run down there with a £20 note and ask them to do our bit too.
I’ll let you know what happens.