Getting my bloody JCB man in means only one thing; MUD.
This time we wanted to replace all the soak-away pipes from our fosse septique; we had a notion that the old ones were getting silted-up.
In he came like a terrier with an itchy arse, digging around, looking down holes, and throwing his arms about. Eventually he found the old pipes, then dug new channels for the shiny red replacements.
This used to be a reasonably level lawn; now look at it. It'll be years before it's back to anything like a cricket pitch again.
JCB digging reflects life; two steps forward then one back.
p.s. The telephone people turned-up yesterday afternoon with some new wooden telegraph poles. They will be wanting to drive their huge lorry over the mud (above) in order to replace our pole, and it's pouring. I see big problems and a helluva mess ahead. I may be shouting a lot today!