Don’t let me be misunderstood

Watling Street services, just off the A2, is my local petrol station. You might stop there as you head east from the M25 towards the North Kent coast. It’s cheaper than any of the places further out, and has a reasonable Spar attached. Strange to think of such a local facility being a place of succour for visitors from further afield, just passing through.

We have several bird feeders in the garden. It’s Joshua’s job to keep them filled up, and we have a lot of locals who frequent what we whimsically call Gravesend services. There’s a variety of fuel, or food, on offer, plus fresh water and a friendly welcome. The occasional cat or fox is scared off by the proprietors.

It was a bit quieter than normal today, as we had a visitor. I’m sure he just wanted to chat, but the locals were having none of it. Our hens wanted to tell me all about it.

Shite hawk

Um, can I get a falafel burger and some fruit juice, please?


They all came back when he’d gone, though.

About rpg

Scientist, poet, gadfly
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