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Tuesday, November 25, 2003

Trip down memory lane...


I was talking to a friend today, and I told him this story. Now this story has come up a few times and is almost always met with complete disbelief. In fact the X denied it was true until he asked my sister, who completely backed me up.

This is honest-to-god truth!

When I was much younger - I must have only been about 8 - my grandparents moved from their house in Birmingham to a house in Madeley, in Shropshire. From what I remember of the house, it was very big - it was actually two houses knocked into one, with two staircases, and two front rooms. It was one of those old houses where the front door(s) opened directly onto the street. And it had an enormous garden. The garden was full of fruit trees and bushes - I remember apples and pears and plums and cherries and strawberries and blackberries. I remember looking for the birds nests in the hedges that ran down the side of the garden.

The next door neighbour had a horse in theirs, I seem to remember. Anyway, my grandad, for some reason (which I suspect was to avoid mowing the lawn in his strange way of thinking) got a goat. A nanny goat. Called Fiona.

And for some very peculiar reason, whenever we used to go and visit, my sister and I used to have to take this goat for a walk. We would put a lead on it, and take it for a walk to the empty plot at the end of the street, to let it graze (why not the garden? I have no idea!). And this plot was right next to the main road through Madeley. And the poor goat used to freeze up when a big lorry went past, in fright, and no amount of tugging and coaxing on our part would get the thing to move. In the end my sister used to have to pick this damn goat up and carry it back.

He also kept chickens. I remember having fresh eggs. But I don't ever remember having goats milk.

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