Every morning you have to squelch through it to get down to feed the chikkins. It's like being at Glastonbury in a bad year without the music. Sometimes your arse gets intimately aquainted with the mud.
When the fiftieth person had gone over, teh committee eventually decided to fix it by laying some paths. That was a looooong time ago, before the flood of Noah. However, work did start this week: the first order of business, obviously, was to dump all the hardcore at the allotment gate so no one could get in.
The next thing is to scrape a bit off the top...about the thickness of a turf.
After that you roll out a bit of weed-proof Axminster and bung an inch of hardcore on top and Bob the builder's yer uncle.
Does anyone think that'll be enough? I haz me doubts...