The road that twists itself towards our house has grass growing in the middle of the tarmac. Those few wisps fill me with well-being, and remind me of the tranquillity and emptiness of my little spot in Hampshire. I greet them with fondness each time I see them while driving home.
But, to adapt a phrase that led to the hunting ban, I intend to seriously compromise the welfare of the grass. I am launching a new venture from home and expect the traffic flow to finally destroy my favoured grasses. In these cash-strapped days, all business opportunities need to be explored, and the Hedges family is soon to launch an honesty box on the shell-shocked world.
The vicar has already collared the market with truly sumptuous conserves sold from his box outside the rectory; the stables have gone in for the ‘where there’s muck, there’s brass’ approach with its manure; and we will start with eggs from our hens as our staple, followed by vegetables. The herbaceous border will be full of cabbages; courgettes will give ground cover and runner beans height. It will look a bit different, but so will the grassless road.
