by Alec Muffett
This weekend – following on from the same last weekend – I have dug all of the gravel from an exceptionally large hole at the front of my property, and placed it in an exceptionally large hole at the rear.
It’s been necessary, but not exactly thrilling.
Next weekend may involve a whackerplate. Or perhaps 400 litres of bark. Possibly both. The potential for excitement is boundless.
No pictures?
And then, of course the inevitable Bernard Cribbins:
There I was, a-digging this hole Hole in the ground, so big and sort of round it was And there was I, digging it deep It was flat at at the bottom and the sides were steep When along comes this bloke in a bowler which he lifted and scratched his head Well he looked down the hole, poor demented soul and he said
Do you mind if I make a suggestion?
Don’t dig there, dig it elsewhere Your digging it round and it ought to be square The shape of it’s wrong, it’s much much too long And you can’t put hole where a hole don’t belong
I ask, what a liberty eh? Nearly bashed him right in the bowler
Well there was I, stood in me hole Shovelling earth for all that I was worth I was And there was him, standing up there So grand and official with his nose in the air So I gave him a look sort of sideways and I leaned on me shovel and sighed Well I lit me a fag and having took a drag I replied
I just couldn’t bear, to dig it elsewhere I’m digging it round cos I don’t want it square And if you disagree it doesn’t bother me That’s the place where the holes gonna be
Well there we were, discussing this hole Hole in the groud so big and sort of round it was It’s not there now, the ground’s all flat And beneath it is the bloke in the bowler hat And that’s that
I must admit you do have exactly the right beard to sing that song. 😎
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