Sunday, 22 January 2017

Bare...

Did you watch Mr Trump make all his promises on Friday?  One things bugs me about him.  Well, obviously, there are many things which bug me about him, but there is one matter which is a clear winner in the bugbear stakes.  It's his hands.  Not that they're small (we all know how this can be a good thing some times), it's more the colour of them. 

I appreciate that like many of us Mr T likes a tan as it makes him look younger and healthier (I'm not convinced).  However, why stop at the shirt's top button?  Surely it would make sense to tan anything which might stick out of clothing some time in the day, such as feet and hands.  When he applies the tan to his face, he must wear gloves to apply it.  If I were to give Mr T one piece of advice, it would be to leave the gloves off. After all, if his hands and face were all orange, we might at least wonder whether he's been away somewhere, rather than just shouting 'Fake Bake!' at the television every time we see him.  Let's hope the stylist he is given can talk some sense into him...Once that's done, perhaps a visit to the hairdresser might be advisable.  That comb over of his could insulate a loft - Mr T, it's time to reveal the dome in all its shining glory...

So back to the real world inhabiting real people.  You will remember that the husband had massacred the hedge outside of our house, leaving a row of bare sticks resembling Boudica's defence against the English.  These and the remains of the hedge were removed over Christmas, and the husband and I decided that we would leave it open plan as the view was wonderful.  However, pulling out the hedge had left a landscape reminiscent of the Somme, and it has taken till yesterday for the bags of topsoil sitting on the drive to be applied to the potholes in the lawn.

I left him yesterday morning, rake in hand, and headed over to Marlow to meet up with Miss R for the obligatory Saturday breakfast.  Our cousin Mrs B was there, and we spent a most pleasant hour using her partner's credit card to buy various inappropriate things, which I am sure will cause some raised eyebrows when his bill comes in at the end of the month. 

Coming back home later on, I called the husband and asked whether he'd like me to pop into the garden centre and buy grass seed for the bare patch on the lawn.  Well of course he did, so I parked up and headed in for advice.  There was a chap standing behind the counter.  Here's how the conversation went.

'Do you sell grass seed?'

'Yes, we do'.

Can I plant it now?'

'No'.

'Why's that?'

'Too cold for the seed we sell'.

'OK .  Can you tell me the name of the seed which you can plant now?'

'No'.

''Oh.  Why not?'

'Because no seed can be planted till the ground is 10 degrees'. (No idea if this is centigrade or fahrenheit)

'Never mind.  At least I've saved myself a job this afternoon'. (small laugh).

'You could turf it though'.

'Oh right.  Have you got any turf?'

'No'.

'Well that's another job I can't do.  Thank you for all your help'.

So it will have to stay bald for a few more months.  Never mind.  I am very patient as you know...


Post a Comment