We need to talk about gravel. Not melting icebergs or no-fly pledges – at least not yet. Gravel. Because under the narrow strip of the stuff that runs between us and next door is a dirty little secret that is not going away any time soon.
Four years ago, in what was not my most elegant moment, I put my foot through our outdoor beanbag. In seconds, despite our best efforts to contain them all, our small back garden was smothered by a polystyrene ball blizzard.
It’s not something you’d immediately think of as a life-changing event, I grant you. Insanely irritating, sure, but hardly a lightbulb moment.
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