Oh, sorry … sorry … sorry

Standard

Lent lunch:  the setup looked as attractive as institutional premises reasonably can.

hall

Twenty minutes later, sixty people were consuming soup, bread and cheese and conversing at the tops of their voices.  Only two bowls of soup were returned half full, so we reckon that’s a success.

After, there was enough daylight to continue the unwinnable war on the bindweed.  While going for the roots, little knotted earthworms kept coming up,  still encysted in their earthy hibernacula.  “Sorry … sorry,” I found myself apologising. This was both ridiculous and insincere:  I went on digging them up anyway.

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