She's the boss...

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What a lovely weekend.  Isn't it amazing the difference a little bit of sunshine can make to an otherwise ordinary couple of days.

After the debacle of the fridge this week, the husband decided that Saturday would be the perfect day to pressure wash the patio.  Now I have done this for the last three years, completely breaking the 'blue job' rule, so I was quite impressed when the husband said that this year, he would be doing it himself.  This is all very well, but when the husband pressure washes the patio, a complete clean of the whole ground floor of the house is required.  His aim is not too precise you see, and after seven hours of cleaning the patio, he then moved on to the house which by now resembled something which Cruella de Vil would have designed.

Naturally, having pressure washed the walls, the windows now all need cleaning, which I'm sure will fall into pink job territory.  Oh whoop-de-doo...

Of course, once you start doing outside 'end of winter' jobs, you tend to get a bit carried away, and while the husband was out on his mountain bike this morning, I started the weeding and general clearing up of all the crap which seems to procreate under my raised bed.  I don't know why I'm surprised about this - you only have to look under my own bed to see that the same thing happens upstairs.  Although it's more holdalls and carrier bags than flower pots and a half chewed plastic turkey wearing a polka dot bikini.

By Sunday afternoon, the garden looked lovely, and ready to welcome daughter number one's new beau.  I haven't decided on a pseudonym for him as yet.  My initial thought of 'Here's One I Made Earlier' (he looks a little like Matt Baker from Blue Peter) doesn't really trip off the tongue, so I'll hold fire till I know him a little better.  Early indications are good though...

Yesterday afternoon, daughter number one and I were chatting about replacing the solar lights which I drape round my fence in the back garden, as the current ones had just about given up the ghost, with and without the sunshine.

So this year, I am going slightly off kilter, and buying some coloured lights.  On hearing my decision, the husband, who is still in the doghouse, piped up, 'I don't like coloured lights.  What colour are they anyway?'

Giving him one of my infamous 'don't mess with me' stares, I said, 'Pink'.

'Pink?' asked the husband.  'Why pink?'

'To remind you who is in charge on this house, that's why they are pink'.

Enough said...

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