Well Spring has sprung. How do I know this? Well the husband has started muttering about mowing the lawn, that's how I know. He asked me yesterday morning whether we had anything planned for next weekend. Having some idea about what was coming next, I was tempted to say that I had enrolled myself on a day's juggling course, in case 'running way to join the circus' ever becomes a life choice, but I was kind, and told him that we were completely free.
His little face lit up, because this empty weekend has given him the go ahead to hire a digger for the day. This is needed for two big jobs. Firstly to dig over the allotment beds to prepare them for planting something which may or may not grow into something which we may or may not eat, and secondly to flatten the small hillock which is now forming part of my lawn, having once been a hedge. You'll remember that the husband removed this as part of his pruning exercise one Saturday afternoon, when I wasn't supervising.
He is also under instruction to get me a new wheelbarrow. I have asked for a pink one, in the vain hope that it might just stay in this postcode. So many things of mine (hammer, screwdrivers, lunch boxes) do the long walk, with no chance of ever coming home again. As it's pink, I can't imagine him turning up on site with all those burly builders taking the Mickey out of him. He'd never live it down.
So that's next weekend planned. I'd like to say that I am looking forward to all this green-fingered work, but I would be lying...
So the lovely weather yesterday galvanised me into action with the pressure washer. Our patio (once black, currently green) is rather big (patio is preferable to grass says the man who mows) and after three hours, I was only two thirds of the way through. Standing up to my ankles in water, I eventually gave up when the tide of dirty water started coming back at me. As I was heading off to the cinema with Mrs S to see Beauty and the Beast, there was some element of changing needed (everything actually. Even my socks were wet).
Getting in the car, I realised that I had a nasty tremor thanks to three hours of vibrating machinery.
Mrs S will think I've been at the bottle again...