Scrape back the crummy old road and add a fresh base of pale stone... Wait for a while (or some time, whichever is more random)... Then turn up unexpectedly with more big machines and add a layer of black gravel.
Roll flat (at this stage I didn't think the new road would be up to much).
Bring in more big machines.
Spray what we used to call tar (I think it's called tar now).
Add gravel, looking thoroughly bored by the whole process.
Roll.
Repeat until the sun fades.
(Needful to say, Boy no longer wants to work in the garage where they test cars for road-worthiness. Now he wants to drive a blue roller.)
3 comments:
The French appear to be full of contradictions. First they tell you that it's the end of the road, then they come and build one for you . . . it doesn't make sense.
You speak the truth. Very eloquently, too. It's why everyone shrugs.
(Although Her Outdoors has given up on the whole thing and retired to the veggie patch, I still have some fight in me. A new hero - or rather, heroine - has appeared on the scene to fight the green fight. More on her, later.)
well, poppet, I was a little saddened to hear that you'd given up the fight - but then I couldn't believe that you *really sincerely* had. Please don't. Some things really *are* worth fighting for. Please give Clare a big hug. I really miss our chats over coffee at times like this . . .
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