An English In Kentucky


















Thursday April 4th 2019Tim Candler9


    The word ditsy springs to mind. Silly, scatterbrained, harebrained, stupid, vacuous, brainless and as a quality it goes rapidly down hill from there. Nor is your correspondent referring to a sitting president, rather he's referring to his own capacity to remember where he puts extraordinarily vital and import things. I know for a fact that I have four hammers, two have red handles, one has a red handle and a broken claw, one has a yellow handle. Why I have four hammers shouldn't really be anyone's business, but it might have something to do with putting a hammer away in a sensible and very obvious place and never being able to find it when it was needed. The yellow handled hammer was missing for almost ten years, it had been so anxious to avoid me it had somehow buried itself under several inches of earth, pure fluke I found it again, and yet had I been searching for it, even subliminally, I probably never would have found it.



      And I've been working on the theory that of you're looking for something you're very likely never to find it. You have to just put it from your mind, pretend it never existed, cast the memory of it aside whenever the thought of it wanders your away. But sometimes more often than not this is much harder to do that it might sound. At the end of last year in a diligent and very deliberately ceremonious manner I stowed the compost Pile thermometer. "See you next year," I clearly remember saying in a jovial, warm hearted way, where I said it I've no idea. Then, sometime around the middle of this February I started wondering where it was, and I had that sense that probably best to shrug it off, pretend I wasn't even thinking about it and wuup it would sulk or something and then it would suddenly appear, we'd have the grand reunion, all would be Roses and Onions. Have to admit I might not have followed through on my part of the theory, it did keep entering my mind, and quite true, a sad day when a gardener develops what could well be an emotional dependency upon his compost pile thermometer. And today I have a fresh compost pile but no thermometer, so there's a bit of an humph round these parts.  


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