I must have dredged up a fond memory of sitting on them alongside a picturesque Loch in the Highlands during one of those long family camping holidays in my childhood.
I will certainly, all those years ago, have depopulated a few shores of their stones in attempts to acheive a multiple skim across the smooth glassy surface, aiming to sink a piece of tree branch or a Tennants Lager beer can floating just within range of a puny juvenile under-arm throw.
Scottish pebbles really are objects of beauty. Their multiple shades of granite and quartz are wondrous to just turn over in your hands and feel the texture of the multi faceted lumps. You can try to tease out of them the story of how they got to their resting place after having been born under unimaginable heat and pressures deep in the crust of the earth, driven along under huge ice glaciers or tumbled along the beds of streams and rivers.
The lady on the end of the phone at the Builders Merchants said that they were nice bits of rock but I was already sold on the idea after having seen an on-line illustration of Scottish Pebbles of mixed size of 40mm to 80mm. Smooth, irregular, pointy and with some just perfectly round, like solid golf balls.
After carefully measuring and calculating the area of my front garden, less that taken up by the cemented-in segmental stone circle, I fed the figures into the number cruncher on the web page of the company selling decorative aggregates and rockery items.
It came to fourteen square metres, equating to 40 handy bags of the stuff.
I placed the order including a delivery charge and on the allotted day a large curtain sided lorry squeezed into the rear service road behind the house and a hot and bothered driver got me to operate the hydraulic tailgate whilst he struggled with the fork-lift trolley which carried a pallet loaded up with the forty bags.
The delivery represented half a ton smuggled across the Border a few weeks before the vote on Independence for Scotland. That amount would certainly leave a large indentation on the bank of Loch Lomond or a lesser known glacial lake.
It was clear within a few minutes of bursting the bags and distributing their contents that I had grossly under-estimated the quantity needed to cover up the fourteen square metres. I had built in a margin of error having similarly but grossly over estimated a quantity of plum slate fragments a few years ago. They ended up covering just about every un-grassed part of the garden.
I had forgotten to allow for an actual depth of pebbles to cover up the newly stretched and weighed down weed resistant fabric cut to size around the circular display.
Yes, each beautiful pebble laid side by side from my delivery would certainly cover the black sheeting but with an awful appearance and no dimension or style in a single layer.
Carefully arranging the half ton by hand gave a pleasing effect and in a light shower during the work the pebbles came alive in all of their multicoloured hues.
However, only a small proportion of the linear fourteen square metres had any coverage.
I would need more Scottish Pebbles for sure.
The supplier, some 35 miles away was getting another batch in soon and I paid for another 20 bags, a further quarter of a ton. There was a bit of a discount if I could pick up and transport under my own steam. This sounded inviting and my Scottish Genes for frugality convinced me on this notion.
The back seats and load bay of the family estate car were flattened out and I pulled in to the muddy track of the supply depot. A fork lift brought out 20 bags and I began to arrange them in a methodical way so as to spread the load. Four in the passenger footwell, nine on the folded down back seat and the remainder in a line and doubled up over the rear axle.
I stood back to look at the car.
It was not level and indeed there was now no clearance between the rear wheels and the arches.
Not wanting to lose face I set off but the sound of creaking springs was alarming.
I stopped on the road to the industrial estate and reviewed my decision of self transportation.
The fork lift driver was surprised to see me back so quickly and asked if I had lost control of my steering under the excessive loading. That apparently is a common sympton of gross incompetence in over ambitious drivers.
I off loaded one, two, three, four bags and there was a noticeable uplift in the suspension. It would be a case of coming back another day to collect them.
My homeward journey was quite eventful. The handling of the car was still very unpredictable not helped by torrential rain and a hurricane force cross wind. Under 50mph was manageable but I was on the A19, a major and very fast moving trunk road from Selby to York. The car, being level now might not attract the attention of the Police but I left the main road and adopted a cross country route using 'B' roads and lesser.
The longer, slower route was also rougher and potholed but the awful noises emanating from the suspension were no longer present. The car skimmed around corners, very skittishly and the slightest grease on the traffic islands made the surface feel like a full scale skid-pan.
It was with much relief, more from getting away with something extremely foolish and stupid than anything that I made it back to the house some 90 minutes later for the 35 mile trip.
The bags were quickly opened and I was preparing an inaugural speech upon completion of my very amateur landscaping.
To my horror the Scottish Pebbles were just swallowed up amongst the half ton already in situ and there were still large visible areas of the matting.
I had to return to the depot a few days later to pick up the surplus four bags but I was dreading having to explain a further order for yet another quarter of a ton.
I am convinced that I now have a good chunk of the land mass of Scotland in my front garden.
The lady on the end of the phone at the Builders Merchants said that they were nice bits of rock but I was already sold on the idea after having seen an on-line illustration of Scottish Pebbles of mixed size of 40mm to 80mm. Smooth, irregular, pointy and with some just perfectly round, like solid golf balls.
After carefully measuring and calculating the area of my front garden, less that taken up by the cemented-in segmental stone circle, I fed the figures into the number cruncher on the web page of the company selling decorative aggregates and rockery items.
It came to fourteen square metres, equating to 40 handy bags of the stuff.
I placed the order including a delivery charge and on the allotted day a large curtain sided lorry squeezed into the rear service road behind the house and a hot and bothered driver got me to operate the hydraulic tailgate whilst he struggled with the fork-lift trolley which carried a pallet loaded up with the forty bags.
The delivery represented half a ton smuggled across the Border a few weeks before the vote on Independence for Scotland. That amount would certainly leave a large indentation on the bank of Loch Lomond or a lesser known glacial lake.
It was clear within a few minutes of bursting the bags and distributing their contents that I had grossly under-estimated the quantity needed to cover up the fourteen square metres. I had built in a margin of error having similarly but grossly over estimated a quantity of plum slate fragments a few years ago. They ended up covering just about every un-grassed part of the garden.
I had forgotten to allow for an actual depth of pebbles to cover up the newly stretched and weighed down weed resistant fabric cut to size around the circular display.
Yes, each beautiful pebble laid side by side from my delivery would certainly cover the black sheeting but with an awful appearance and no dimension or style in a single layer.
Carefully arranging the half ton by hand gave a pleasing effect and in a light shower during the work the pebbles came alive in all of their multicoloured hues.
However, only a small proportion of the linear fourteen square metres had any coverage.
I would need more Scottish Pebbles for sure.
The supplier, some 35 miles away was getting another batch in soon and I paid for another 20 bags, a further quarter of a ton. There was a bit of a discount if I could pick up and transport under my own steam. This sounded inviting and my Scottish Genes for frugality convinced me on this notion.
The back seats and load bay of the family estate car were flattened out and I pulled in to the muddy track of the supply depot. A fork lift brought out 20 bags and I began to arrange them in a methodical way so as to spread the load. Four in the passenger footwell, nine on the folded down back seat and the remainder in a line and doubled up over the rear axle.
I stood back to look at the car.
It was not level and indeed there was now no clearance between the rear wheels and the arches.
Not wanting to lose face I set off but the sound of creaking springs was alarming.
I stopped on the road to the industrial estate and reviewed my decision of self transportation.
The fork lift driver was surprised to see me back so quickly and asked if I had lost control of my steering under the excessive loading. That apparently is a common sympton of gross incompetence in over ambitious drivers.
I off loaded one, two, three, four bags and there was a noticeable uplift in the suspension. It would be a case of coming back another day to collect them.
My homeward journey was quite eventful. The handling of the car was still very unpredictable not helped by torrential rain and a hurricane force cross wind. Under 50mph was manageable but I was on the A19, a major and very fast moving trunk road from Selby to York. The car, being level now might not attract the attention of the Police but I left the main road and adopted a cross country route using 'B' roads and lesser.
The longer, slower route was also rougher and potholed but the awful noises emanating from the suspension were no longer present. The car skimmed around corners, very skittishly and the slightest grease on the traffic islands made the surface feel like a full scale skid-pan.
It was with much relief, more from getting away with something extremely foolish and stupid than anything that I made it back to the house some 90 minutes later for the 35 mile trip.
The bags were quickly opened and I was preparing an inaugural speech upon completion of my very amateur landscaping.
To my horror the Scottish Pebbles were just swallowed up amongst the half ton already in situ and there were still large visible areas of the matting.
I had to return to the depot a few days later to pick up the surplus four bags but I was dreading having to explain a further order for yet another quarter of a ton.
I am convinced that I now have a good chunk of the land mass of Scotland in my front garden.
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