I've spent weeks moving barrowloads of heavy Cotswold clay from one end of the garden to the other, and a good deal of it ends up on the kitchen floor. More mud finds its way in when every time I take Fly for a walk up the hill. It's a while since this picture of Grump Street went to a good home, but I remember the brilliance of the light that day after the sudden rainstorm soaked everything (including me and the dog). And, of course, I remember the mud.
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