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Wednesday, September 21, 2005

Well the breaking news is that last night, at 11pm, on a clear moonlit evening in Shotley Gate, with barely a hint of a breeze, I discovered something truly amazing.

I discovered that I couldn't be bothered to walk back to the telegraph pole.

Actually, now I think about it, it's probably not that amazing. But as a compromise I did drive past it yesterday afternoon en route to Ipswich to buy compost, and I'm sorry to report that there were no new messages attached. Although 'Bums & Tums' are apparently still going strong.

I did wonder though if we're all barking up the wrong tree (well, telegraph pole). My new theory is that Davey isn't a surname, it's a forename, and that "Sarah Davey Through the Years!" is just another way of saying "Sarah & Davey 4 Ever!". After all, it's possible that with the threat of ASBOs permanently hanging over their heads, the youth of today are too scared to carve declarations of love into council property, and prefer to put up polite notices instead.

Though I'm still not ruling out the battered wife / wheelie bin / vase in a haystack theory.

Anyhoo, having tried and failed to get into Ipswich two weeks ago, I actually managed it yesterday, which meant I had the joy of meeting another clueless member of the Barclays bank staff, but in a whole different branch this time.

I also had an enjoyable conversation with the woman on the checkout at Tescos, who felt it was her place to comment on all my shopping (I love it when they do that), and let me know whether or not her husband likes the same things as I do. I can tell you now that he's a big fan of Jordans cereals, particularly the one with strawberries, but that he also likes porridge as an occasional treat. I thought she was going to invite me round for breakfast at one point, but in the end she just asked if I wanted cashback.

My most exciting purchase though (apart from the Value cabbage) was a bag of Miracle-Gro compost, which meant I was able to return home and spend a relaxing hour trying to repot my one and only houseplant without getting soil all over the kitchen floor. The fact that it took me longer to hoover up afterwards than it did to pot the plant, suggests that I may have failed.

But the plant is now repotted and looking lovely in preparation for its two week holiday in Chelmsford, where my Mum will be watering it for me while I'm in Brighton. She doesn't know she'll be watering it for me, as I've forgotten to ask her, but hey, it's in a pot the size of a bucket, with a whole sack of Miracle-Gro compost, and it's looking a bit peaky - how can the woman refuse?