Little Martin

While we settle back in to our home, organise our lives, catch up with life at home and on the allotment, and frankly get my head into some kind of gear I’ll tell you a story, a little one, just like the central character.

Let’s step back a bit to a birthday a few years ago, a beautiful bright sunny day and we headed out for what has become a bit of a tradition – a walk. We take the day off from whatever is happening in our lives, sling our boots on, grab a map, shove a flask of tea and a couple of snacks in a bag and off we go for a ramble around the Sussex / Kent countryside. A day away, a day of pleasure, a simple day.

We headed out early, had the most wonderful walk and reached home late afternoon, tired and happy. To be greeted. Greeted by a little fellow on our doorstep. It appeared he’d spent most of the day there, watching passers-by and life in general along our street, taking it all in. A quizzical expression on his face, leaning on his spade and wondering where the digging needed to be done.

And so Little Martin came to live with us and set up residence in our garden. Sometimes he sits on a wall, sometimes he is found under a Fatsia taking shelter from the rain. But he’s still with us, presiding over our flora and fauna.

And his name? Well it was a matter of deduction, phone calls, heavy and rigorous questioning, involving drinking wine (yes, that intensive!),  until we finally got a flicker of a chuckle from our friend. And of course his stature – or how shall I put it delicately? rather lack of it. And so Little Martin was christened.

Bonjour mes amis!!

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