DAY 68-69
I am pondering which of the previous inhabitants of my house would have buried a sardine tin. Not that I ever knew any of them and the nature of their garbage disposal habits, but a sardine tin, with its top dutifully curled back and key still intact, decided to exhume itself today while I dug over what used to be my veggie patch in order to extend a garden bed. It’s not like there wouldn’t be enough room left in the rubbish bin to toss it in, so burying it in the garden did seem a trifle odd.
And there, right alongside it, was the T-bone of a T-bone steak, also still intact and not showing any signs of decomposition. Oh, that’s right, it’s all the flesh that disappears over time, not the bones, otherwise there wouldn’t be anything left for forensic anthropologists and pathologists to investigate, crime writers to write about or film corporations to make endless TV series about.
I’ve lived here for fifteen years, the longest I have lived in one house, or any town for that matter, and in all my garden excavations the sardine tin has remained undisturbed. I did suspect at one point that a previous household dog might have been buried in the general vicinity though (presumably after its demise), as my initial establishment of the veggie patch did unearth an interesting array of bones, none of which appeared large enough to be human so I felt assured no dastardly deed had befallen my abode which might come back to haunt me some time in the future.
As for the sardines, maybe the family moggie ate outside and the occupant was just too darn lazy to chuck it where it belonged, maybe the tin got so on the nose in the house they decided to bury it as far away as possible in the back corner of the yard. Who knows, not really worth pondering about.
Anyone for sardines on toast?
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