Michael
I tip the last barrow-load. After a dozen return trips to ‘The Heap’, I’m glowing with heat, dripping with sweat and smelling more of manure than manhood. The ground steams where the output from the stables lies scattered over Charlotte’s planned new herb bed…
That should get them green and growing…
If only to get away from the smell…
Turning the barrow over, I rub away a fragment of straw that has somehow taken root in my stubble… I itch…
“I brought you a coffee.”
It’s Charlotte, a mug in either hand, the steam rather more appealingly fragrant than what I’ve just been handling.
“Thanks, Babe. I was just coming in.”
She wrinkles her nose. “I hope you were planning on a shower?”
“It’s Number One on my list of To-Dos.” Extending an arm to a tree stump, “May I offer my wife a
