Here is my lovely new compost bin.
No longer will there be awkward silences when someone asks 'do you compost?' Not only can I reply 'absolutely!', but I can proudly add 'and I made it myself'.
The back is a pallet robbed from a neighbour's skip (shh), and the sides are old fence panels. A trench was dug to sit them in, and the panels are packed with bricks to keep them steady. A trick remembered from my previous life as an archaeologist: the central poles of Iron Age roundhouses were packed with stones. Don't know if it will work but if it's good enough for the ancients...
The bin is bigger than planned. To be honest I'm not sure it will ever get filled. In one way it will be a shame if it did. The space inside it, in it's clean unused state, is lovely and cosy like a den. The turned earth smells lovely and if you crouch inside no one can see you. It's a secret place that makes me want to raid the kitchen for a pork pie and bottle of ginger beer, and spend the afternoon reading a book about horsey girls going to gymkhanas.
