Every time I go out to fluff up my beloved compost pile I find some new treasure - the grapefruit rinds have finally started to rot, the straw and grass are making a lovely black slime - and I feel like the woman in the scene in Monty Python and the Holy Grail in which the two peasants are confronted by their king ...
If only I lived in an anarcho-syndicalist commune, I'd be fine. After all, Jason IS 37 ...
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