Tuesday, 4 April 2017

Green, green grass of home...

So on New Car Delivery Day Minus One, I managed to describe the damn thing in full pornographic detail to at least seven people.  If only I had a picture, it would be so much easier, as I could blow it up to poster size and stick them up in strategic positions, such as my office wall and my front door.  I'm sure that the excitement will soon start to wane, assuming my over exuberance doesn't cause someone to take a baseball bat to me out of sheer desperation...

Now as you all know, the husband is a man amongst men, and yesterday he stripped off to the waist and fulfilled a lifelong fantasy of mine, and mowed our lawns. He can be quite fastidious with the lawns (especially the front one which is on show) and insists on the striping being prominent, even and straight.  He thinks I don't notice him out there with his spirit level and tape measure, but I have eyes... 

I'm not so picky though.  As long as I don't have to machete a path through the undergrowth to get to my deckchair, then that's good enough for me.  Anyway, once it was done, it looked lovely, and I discovered various items which had gone missing over the winter months, one of which was a pair of my tights languishing beneath the raised bed, covered in leaves and acting as a holiday home to a family of cheese-logs (picture to follow if you don't know what I'm talking about).  Haven given them a good shake, the dogs were thrilled to be let loose on them again, and it stopped them pestering me for all of two minutes.  

I'm not the biggest fan of gardening.  Actually, I detest it. You just about get it looking pretty enough to sit in, and then what happens?  October, that's what bloody happens and all of a sudden, the sofas look a lot more attractive than sitting in the deckchair achieving nothing but a blue tinge.  While ferretting around the garden on Sunday, I realised that I had made a schoolgirl error when planting stuff in the borders when we moved in.  You see, we moved here in April, so I filled them stuff which was colourful at that time. However, come June to September, it's a colour wasteland out there, with green being the dominant hue.  In fact, it's hard to see where the grass starts and the border finishes in the hiatus of summer.

I have decided that I am going to take the advice of Mrs S, my green fingered friend, and buy some colourful stuff in July and whack it in the border.  In case you're wondering, this is a gardening term which I live by for 'You're going in that part of the border.  If you're still alive in November, you can stay'.  

I use this adage quite a lot actually, and it's worked very well so far with the husband and the children...


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