Don't speak...

I chanced upon next week's weather forecast last night.  I am now in the process of looking for anything which resembles 'fleece' to lay over my bedding plants to protect them from the plummeting temperatures which are predicted from Monday onwards.  I would like to think that the Harbingers of Doom may have it wrong, but just in case, I am shredding any cotton wool ball I can find.  Even my nail varnish remover pads are getting a little roughing up just in case.  I can almost see the man in the garden centre who warned me about this, shaking his head and muttering, 'I told you so'.

I hold myself responsible for the sudden turn about in the weather.  Not because of the bedding plants, but more for the opening of the holiday suitcase.  If only I had held off for another week or so, and been content with sweating it out in a pair of leggings and long suede boots.  Never mind, it's part of the whole excitement of April, waking up in the morning and wondering whether it's going to be a short sleeve top day or one requiring thermal socks and a polo neck.

So this week, the husband started a big contract in London.  This is his worst nightmare, and as you can imagine, it gives him lots to grumble about.  The traffic/parking/expensive bottles of water/numpties are a frequent topic of conversation when he finally walks through the door each evening, and I have to be a very good 1950's housewife, and not talk too much before he has offloaded all his woes.  I have this for another four months or so, and I'm not sure that I can continue keeping my mouth shut for that long.  Two days in, and it's already becoming an issue, and I have taken to chewing on a bit of toffee when he comes through the door so that I can give the illusion of listening intently, even though my mouth is champing at the bit to talk non-stop.  

My main topics are always Binland, the dogs, food, kids and the weekend, just not necessarily in that order.  Perhaps if I spoke about something a little more highbrow, it would make his day look better.  Unfortunately, when the worst thing which had happened to you all day is that the Co-op had run out of avocados, then perhaps it's advisable to keep quiet for a while.

The wonderful Lady H (she with the magic duster) was here yesterday, and she very kindly updated me on the leaking shower.  Now, as the husband is fully schooled (although reluctant to practice) in all things plumbing, I need him to take a look and do the appropriate repairs which involve a sealant gun according to Lady H.  Looking at the husband as he came home last night, I think it's unlikely that I'll pluck up the courage to ask him to take a look till at least July, so I am thinking of doing it myself, 

In the words of daughter number two before a particularly awful cake baking session...

How hard can it be....