Posts

Baggy trousers...

Image
You'll be very pleased to hear that the husband survived my wrath after the Night of The Missing Trousers.  
What has been most surprising is the number of friends, who having read yesterday's ramblings, now announce that they have spare dinner suits (ranging from 'only worn a couple of times' to 'never worn at all') in their wardrobes.  I've decided that it's a very strange thing about dinner suits.  It doesn't matter what size the wearer is, whether he be 6'3" or 5'10", a 34" waist or 32" inside leg, because apparently one size fits all.  The most recent offer of a pair of trousers came from the husband of a wonderful friend who has the misfortune to wear what I consider to be square trousers.  What are these I hear you ask.  Well, he has a 54"waist and a 27" inside leg...so you do the maths..
Thinking about these trousers, although the offer was a lovely one, they would definitely have been no good.  Lengthwise…

Donald, where's your trousers...

Image
The husband is the King of Ill Preparation, the Prince of Procrastination, the Count of Can't be A**ed...
Knowing this only too well, I had asked him on Wednesday whether his dinner suit, shirt, dickie bow etc were all ok as we had a big function on the cards for Saturday night. 'Yes, yes', he'd muttered, 'it's all there'.
I now know that a) he wasn't listening and b) he hadn't been anywhere near his wardrobe. 
On Saturday afternoon around 4.00, I reminded him that the taxi would be collecting us at 4.45.  As he was mid car wash, I said that I would go and quickly get ready and by the time he'd finished my car, the bathroom would be all his. Now, I have been here before, so I poked my head into his wardrobe to get the suit and shirt out.  Horrors, there was a jacket and a dickie bow, but no trousers. 
Having done a military sweep of the children's wardrobes to see whether they had borrowed them.  If you know the height difference between the bo…

In da club...

Image
Boy was I glad to see the end of this week.  What with the football, the weeping colleagues (just the male ones as the female variety were quite cock-a-hoop) and the incessant watering of myself as well as the allotment, my garden, and a neighbour's garden (a greenhouse, thirty tubs, four cacti, seven bowls of hedgehog water and a scoop of mealworms each day....in the hottest fortnight on record).  Throw into the mix some rather frustrating conversations with someone who shall go unnamed, I was very glad to leave Binland on Friday afternoon.
But there have been good things too.  And isn't that what life is about?  There's no point having good things if you don't have the bad to compare them to.
I spent a lovely two hours with the Mother on Thursday discussing plants, allotments and beetroot, and I'd like to think that the highlight of her afternoon was digging up a couple to take home for her dinner that night. Or maybe it was the contraband tomato I smuggled out …

Three lions on a shirt...

Image
Do you have any idea what it's like working with colleagues  94% of whom are of the male persuasion, on the morning after a World Cup semi-final?
Walking into Binland yesterday morning, there was a depressing hush over the place as the boys contemplated the previous night's loss at football against a country who has a relatively small population.  Putting it bluntly, if you could could get all the people living in Birmingham and Sheffield to snuggle up together, that would be Croatia's population.
Deciding that a positive slant would be the best way forward, I greeted them all with a cheery, 'Morning all'.
And how did they react?
Master P was sadly humming 'It's staying put', to the tune of 'It's coming home'.  This was accompanied with head shaking and eye rolling for most of the morning.  There was also the risk of tears whenever Gareth Southgate was mentioned.
Master J, who is a little more pragmatic, swore a lot, but tried to cheer up Master …

Bagboy...

Image
There is a saying about 'what goes around comes around', and at no time has that been more fitting than on my dog walk yesterday.
As you all know by know, my two dogs are extremely different in character.  I have Percy, the older of the two, who is sensible, distinguished, calm and basically, the dog who everybody wants (except for the time he rolled in some fox poo when even I considered putting him up for adoption).  And then there is Reg.
He arrived around three years after we got Percy, and the purchase was based on the fact that Percy was such a great dog.  If only we'd known...  Reg could be a completely separate species, let alone a different breed of dog, he is so unlike Percy.
Brash, daft, naughty, destructive and dirty.  And these are his better points.  He decapitates my flowers, poops wherever the fancy takes him and will eat anything which stops moving long enough.  Yesterday, he got his comeuppance...
We'd been over to the allotment to water what was left of …

Hot in the city...

Image
The heat has finally got to me.
The last three nights have seen me in bed before 9.30 each night, dragging my feet up the stairs each night like a sulking seven year old who's been refused 'just five more minutes'.  The problem is that normal life has to go on, whatever the weather.  We still have to work, walk dogs, feed husbands and iron clothes (under duress).  We also have to pour the equivalent of the Pacific Ocean over our dahlias and hollyhocks each evening.  
Because of the risk of 'scorching' (this is a term which is bandied round at times of extreme heat and I've yet to learn whether it applies to the waterer or the plant) this watering has to be done after the sun goes down, which is approximately an hour after I start thinking about heading off to bed.  This is why you'll often find me in pyjamas and wellies in the back garden around 9.00, risking life, limb and antirrhinum to premature watering.  I have a devil may care attitude it would appear..…

Sunny afternoon...

Image
The husband went off on a jolly this weekend, along with some other gentlemen of a similar age.
He had sold it to me a couple of weeks ago, describing it as 'just a bit of a motorbike event', and I expected him to be missing for just a few hours, eventually coming home with part of his bike in a rucksack having lost it on a tight corner.
So watching him get ready for it on Friday morning, I watched as t-shirts were packed, then a toothbrush, a change of underwear and then...a tent.
'Exactly how long are you going for?' I asked gesturing towards the tent.
Well it turned out that he was leaving on the Saturday morning (around seven hours after we crawled through the door after Henley Regatta) and would be staying the night.  This was because there was live music, a bar and 'other entertainment'.  I didn't ask him to quantify the 'other entertainments' but bearing in mind it was a bikers' event, you can bet your bottom dollar that it didn't involve…