Good Grief!
Several days earlier, Moopah had carefully mown the lawn and emptied all the cuttings into a special bag he’d bought from the council. They were going to collect it, and others, and compost them into soil that they could use on the flower beds in the town’s parks and gardens.
Moopah thought it was a very good idea and had signed up to the service as soon as he read about it in the local newspaper.
One night, he’d placed the full bag carefully outside on the street, next to the big gates, the ones that closed off the garden from the road.
The following morning, he went out to check the post box. He was about to go back in with the mail when the man from the council service drove up the street and stopped outside.
“Good morning, Sir. Where’s your bag of grass?”
Moopah turned to point at it by the big gate. “Good grief!” he exclaimed. “It was here last night. I put it there myself.”
The man said, “It was there when I went to work this morning, only a couple of hours ago. I saw it. That’s why I came to ask you where it was, otherwise I wouldn’t have driven all the way up here for nothing.”
They agreed it was a mystery and that in future Moopah would phone the man of a morning, when it was definitely there to be collected.