They are seen by some as the gateway to a chilly version of Hell, few under 50 venture there, the grey shadows pass across the sky and a cold wind blows between pale trees and dead stones, vampire purchases suck life in and spit the spirit, dried up and shrivelled back out; yes I'm in a garden centre. Actual the soup and scone were rather nice and we picked some apparently shade loving plants, bird food and compost, all useful in the grand plan. It's not us or the place it's everybody else - perhaps that's the simple trouble with the world, everybody else is also in it and (in this case) they are dodging coffins like they were HGVs on the M6. So I say God bless the brittle and shuffling along oldies, I guess I'm just about one now and maybe I should accept my fate with good grace and just shoogle along the rocky road to...yet another garden centre.
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