Goodbye, old friend
It's a sad day in limey land, today.
Last night at 1:02am, an earthquake hit England and destroyed my cold frame.
Don't worry about me. As regular readers of this blog will know, I have vast experience in these types of dangerous situations. Never mind the fact that I almost shit myself and looked under the bed (like a complete moron) to see if someone was under there shaking it. No, that was a mere blip on the flawless Rob Cutforth disaster survival record. Remember when I was in Brooks and that monster hail/lightning storm came sweeping past, I was the one who said we should cower in the basement. Or what about my first Bonfire night experience; Remember when that roman candle tipped over and started shooting tiny flaming balls at me? I ran away, pushing old folks and kids down (Costanza style) screaming like a little girl.
No, when the shit hits the fan, Rob Cutforth bails using his wife as a human shield. That's right, I'm a survivor (what), I'm not gon' give up, I not gon' stop, I'm gonna work harder keep on survivin' (what).
Unfortunately, the same can't be said about my defenseless cold frame.
Here are some pictures of it in its former glory:
These were my radishes and peas in my first garden ever.
Ok, so I only have one picture, and it's not actually of the cold frame itself. I think it's safe to say I took my cold frame for granted. You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone. Go give your cold frame a hug right now and tell it how much it means to you.
They say there was only one injury, that of a man who's roof caved in on him and broke his pelvis, but what about my broken heart? *sniff* If you have time today, please pour a 40 Oz of Olde English (or your preferred brand of malt liquor) over your garden for all the dead homies who perished in the wake of nature's fury.
Goodbye cold frame, you served me well.