The Garden is far from grand, though fairly large, but attached as it is to a mid-seventies urban dwelling, it is land that has been chewed over, robbed of topsoil, having rubble and services thrown randomly in, then sealed back over with a meagre covering of grass and planting. Upon digging into it, this history is soon revealed. Most of this history consists of stones, car batteries, rocks, boulders, toy soldiers, bricks, glass, clay and iron, thus digging into it is a task requiring the aid of crowbars, picks, sledgehammers and hefty spades. A wheelbarrow would have been useful, but I only acquired this addition after about 3 years of hand-held labour, preferring in the early days to use a bucket which was carried repeatedly to the top or bottom of the steep plot, to be emptied and refilled of its weighty contents.
Crikey, you need a working bee. A box of beer, few snags on the barbie, and your mates will have it sorted quickly. Well that is how it is supposed to work.