well ?

Because no-one who didn't have a well would want a Microwaveable package of mashed episodes of Perry Mason, obviously.

Nor does anyone who has a well, for that matter, but they didn't think of that.

For what it's worth, in our old house we used to have a well, but we don't here. So I speak from a little experience of both camps.

Well enough?

And are you well this morning?

Son No 1 has a well in his kitchen. The water changes from pellucid to cloudy white from time to time, without stirring.

Our nearest well is about 100 yards away.

It's mostly full of litter.

Our stir well smells of piss.

There was a well nearby but it is not well anymore;

heh heh

We have a well in the garden. I get it checked every so often to see if it is potable. So far it's absolutely fine.

seethes with jealously (as usual)

Nice one Mac

A girlfriend I had a couple of decades ago was in the habit of remarking 'three holes in the ground' when I said 'well well well...' :o)

We dug the well in our garden in the old house ourselves. We never had it tested for potability and didn't trust it - used it for watering the garden, washing the car and flushing the loo when we had water cuts.

It was only nine feet deep, but never dried up completely. We didn't dig it any deeper because at that depth we couldn't keep up with the rate the water came in, even at the end of a long dry spell.

Dug down a couple more feet and you could have had a fountain.

Not a well but, well, an actual river, flowing through my allotment as I speak; was once there but it has been diverted decades ago; an old map shows two wells next to its course, now filled in, but as Nature laughs last, when it rains the ground water comes to the surface, and floods large swathes of the area; especially my plo'! I love it anyway.

phantlers

I don't think so. The water was seeping in through the sides more than up from underneath. Judging from the geological survey we should probably have got down to clay quite soon.

This thread has got me quite emotional. I'm welling up.

I was well traumatized by that nursery rhyme poem about the cat that fell in a well. You don't really get over stuff like that. You think you do. But you don't.

The nursery rhyme was surely about a cat that was put in a well by Little Tommy Thin? And since Little Tommy Stout pulled it out, perhaps it survived the experience?

A reasonable Dubris sort of rationalization, but in my child's mind, the well iz always there.