Compost

We woke early again this morning. Rick suddenly jumped out of bed and went downstairs at about 6.45. He came back up again, saying "we've got a visitor." I scrambled to the window. Standing outside our front door was a large, black compost bin. "It's arrived!" I said gleefully.

I only ordered it two days ago. Hurrah for the Council!

It's funny how something as ordinary as being able to make my own compost again can make me feel at home. It felt all wrong, chucking stuff in the bin that could have made nice, nourishing, crumbly brown compost for the garden.

We've just got back from Banbury, where we've spent the morning avoiding going to Tesco. We've visited the Health Food shop, the market (including a WI stall where we found home-made chutney, local honey and locally grown potatoes), and an ironmongers. It took ages, but is definitely a more pleasant experience than Tesco. We now want to find a Farm Shop or something where we can get locally reared (ideally organic) meat and locally grown veg. We must be in the right territory for that sort of thing, surely?