Cleaning out the pit of dooooom


Ick, yuck and filth. That is a pretty accurate summary of what I faced yesterday when I conquered the chest-deep well thingy in the garden.

Oh  yum.
Not knowing much about what was going on before us I can only guess-no, actually I'd rather not -at what went on around and into that bricked hole to make such a smelly smelly smell. I know the funk of rotting leaves and stagnant water (did I mention I once lived in a swamp?) and I'm familiar with some of the air-thickening qualities of a pile of farmyard manure,  but      this    was    un    holy.  A curious stir with a stick awoke the sleeping beast and what seem to be it's irritable bowl. Best to leave it, I thought, backing away with a sleeve over my nose and blinking furiously at the fumes singeing my eyelashes. I've got enough to occupy my time while I find a job. There are eight trees to arrange, plant, then move around and plant again. And don't forget the trough. Even now, it's just sitting there, laughing at you (still not ready. Will explain later).

Even Poppy, whose delights (beetles, spiders, anything twitchy) are too many to be replussed by anything is grossed out.
Buuuuut it's right by the door and it turns out that it seriously kicks up when the sun hits it. So yesterday, a day that was minimally rainy and neither too hot (smell factor) nor too cold (makes doing anything unpleasant even worse) I donned my wellies and picked an old coat and washing up gloves to sacrifice to the stink gods and waded in.

Did I say my wellies?
Five implements, a lot of cursing, one change of cothing (poor judgement of welly height) and a bewildered postman later (I peek-a-booed from the depths of the pit. Hilarious.) I did scrape out four very sloshy wheelbarrow loads of matter plus a champagne glass, a saucer, a lighter,  an old volleyball and a dog collar. I am proud. Like the fig cuttings but with the added savour of feeling like I also survived something a little traumatising.

Scrubbing and disinfecting have made a big difference, taking things from smell factor 5 (red alert) down to almost 0. However I've got bigger plans and after the water and bits of sediment from a slightly crumbly brick I trod on have settled I will apply my oh-so-original plan to transform the formerly smelly pit into a truly glamorous, goldfish-riddled, waterlily mini-garden. In the meantime I will have to devise a kitty rescue ramp as goldfish, being bite-sized and delightfully twitchy will be too much of a temptation for Poppy.

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