the dignity of labour

Having tantalised you yesterday with a promise to tell you about the bigger story later, I've decided that if I do, it will be on my other blog, The Valley of Lost Things, because I plan to keep this one for posts about how I feel.

Yesterday's visit to the allotment was more like what I'd imagined Friday's would be. I went relatively late in the day, and spent a couple of hours ferrying junk to the skip. Joe Swizzlestick, the person who had the plot before us (name changed slightly to protect the innocent), was a hoarder, someone who kept things just in case they ever came in handy. As a result, we have huge quantities of rotting pieces of wood, odd bits of metal and vast quantities of glass. We're particularly keen to get rid of the glass while it's still in the form of finite sheets rather than infinite shards.

So yesterday, taking advantage of the recently emptied skip while it still has some space left, I removed the remains of a rusty metal contraption constructed to hold compost, most of the glass and assorted wood. It was hard work, but it's satisfying and ultimately more productive than going to a gym.

Sometimes the most difficult part is getting up off my backside and going down to the allotment, but once I do, I always feel much, much better. I just don't understand why I forget how good I feel afterwards.