28 March 2025
Friday. Two more plots, in Sydney. Not mine to look after, thank goodness, but I have been asked to advise.
They went east in a crate the size of a small house, with the gentleman in the top hat fussing round it for a week. He wrote FRAGILE on everything. He wrote it on the crate, the straps, the forklift and, when I left it on the bench for five minutes, my lunch. I ate it anyway. It was a cheese and pickle. It survived.
I sent my second-best rake with them, and a note for whoever ends up with the job on that side. Rake towards the path, not away. Check the lids twice. Do not try to sit up in them. Do not argue with the cat, if there is a cat.
Word came back tonight. Two plots, both disturbed by morning, soil everywhere, two pairs of footprints heading for the station. Same as here. Same boxes, same game, same mess.
Tally (Northbridge): plots disturbed, two. Tally (Sydney): two, reported. Rakes I own, one fewer. Tuppence has no opinion on Sydney.
— H., groundskeeper
