I have a fetish for logs, I have to come clean... Since I moved to Inners two years ago I've become this strange beast that scans every woodland and stand of trees for useful things to burn.
I used to look at trees as lovely things that provided shade on sunny days (*haahahahaha - all of Scotland*) and homes for birds, beasts and bugs, as things that could really make a viewpoint, a thing to ride in and out of for joy and stupid fun, a thing to ride in and out of and hit really hard and hurt yourself, a hiding place, a solitary haven, a breathtaking autumn scene.
Now I generally want to see if anything's fallen so I can magic it away to my garden and spend hours playing with my logsplitter and woodshed. I think its an affliction that affects men of a certain age with gardens, wives (not plural) and open fires. I used to play in a band and tour the country in shitty old vans and sleep on strangers floors getting up to silliness - all good, and now I split logs and enjoy the burn. Getting older is really not worth worrying about. Don't fight it - feel it.
Didn't primal scream say that in an album that I listened to in my 20's? I might have found the point....
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