Oh I was going to tell you about my worms.Squirmy little buggers always under foot. No matter where I dig in my fingers there they are. Poor souls. Wriggling in the dirt, heading off...well, wherever worms go.
Fat too. The sort of worm that makes a man proud of his labours. I can see it now: the epitaph. 'He grew good worms.'
'How do I do it?' you ask...Let me explain.
First up you build a sort of sand castle....…Continue