Yet another narcissistic load of old cobblers that no-one will ever read.

It's a dirty job...

Have a look at this picture from around the back of the shed.

You'll notice a few things:  1) The weather is awful, 2) the crazy angle suggesting your author is possibly drunk and 3) a couple of large, cylindrical objects.  The first point is irelevant, the second is simply due to a lack of wide-angle capability on my phone's camera and the third is a problem for Chacmool's wind turbine.

I want to site the turbine mast in line with the centre of the shed and unfortunately that means the shorter cylinder - the composter - needs to move.  It's unfortunate becuase it's big, heavy and full of rotting compost.

So I set to work and a couple of dirty hours or so later the composter was in a new position approimately 1 metre to the left.  I wanted to spend a bit of time after that working on preparing the turbine mast components and stuff - but after that (and some other pressing tasks like cleaning the bathroom), I frankly couldn't be arsed.

Getting a closer look at the compost was interesting.  We usually just chuck compostable stuff into this thing and hope for the best.  No turning-over or other composty maintenance for us.  It just seems to look after itself.  On closer examination (which I could have done without), the compost contained quite a lot of still-pristine egg shells, an alarming number of un-decomposed wine corks along with quite a bit of biodegradable plastic which hadn't done any such thing.

A couple of days later, after all that digging, I got this twinge in my shoulder.  My lovely wife suggested a trip to the osteopath.  I shrugged that off in my usual manly, medic-averse manner - which was painful becuase it hurt to shrug.  Surely it would fix itself in a day or so?  Three or four days of miserable aching, ibuprofen guzzling and sleepless nights later however, I found myself at the osteopath clinic and a few quid lighter.

Digging sucks.  Don't do it kids.

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