Our kitchen doors look out on to what would be a lovely garden. I’ve visions of all sorts of lovely herbs and climbing azaleas and nice-smelling foliage crawling all over the place, but the summer sort of… got away from me. I have a half-finished swing intended for Laughingboy and a pile of paving stones and several bags of cement that are too wet to be of any use anymore, I have a dead couch and a wheelbarrow full of rocks that Wouldye dug up and placed lovingly on the doorstep to make them more convenient to throw. I have broken flower pots and a bird cage and a rake of broken rusty tools and lots and lots of mushed dog turds.
On New Year’s Day a miracle happened… everything was covered in celestial whiteness, the snow so untouched, you could see a robin’s footprints on it. The junk never looked so beautiful. TAT gazed out of the window and suggested we find a wholesaler that would supply us with enough cotton-wool to cover the garden up all year round… it’s not the worst idea he’s ever had.
This is my offering of how the term ‘Slush Puppy’ was first coined: