Forever Autumn...

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After a stunning walk along the river yesterday morning with the two dogs and Long John Silver (yes, he's still limping) the husband and I stopped at a new cafe for an edible reward after the four mile meander.  Sitting outside with our coffees and spectacular sandwiches (www.cartshed.co.uk if you're interested), we decided that this was to be one of our new favourite places for a walking pit stop. Mind you, I'm not too sure that my jeans would be too happy about me being a regular visitor, as the flapjack was by far the best I have ever had (and I'm not backward at coming forward at every flapjack opportunity).  

So it was two sleepy woofers and two knackered owners who did the short drive home.  I hadn't said anything to the husband, but the sofa had been calling for me for at least an hour by that time, so when he suggested that it would be a good day to sort the garden out, I nearly thumped him.  But of course, he was right.  It was beautiful yesterday, and who knows when another Sunday like that would be next along.

Jobs wise, I had some pruning and clipping back to do, along with weeding and planting my dahlias for next year (if they survive, it'll be a bloody miracle as they've been in my garage for the last two years).  So if I was doing all of this, what was the husband going to do?  Well ladies, as we all know, men will only do any work in the garden if it requires something with a plug on the end, or needs some kind of flammable liquid to get it going (I'm much the same with gin).  

So it was the chance for him to get out his new petrol operated leaf blower, and once armed with safety goggles and gloves, he started wielding the leaf blower around the lawn willy-nilly.  There was some methodical sweeping of leaves across the lawn to the gate, interrupted with moments of nonsense as he decided to see whether he could wind the dogs up.  Failing miserably, he then decided to point the darn thing in my direction.  Bent over in the flower bed, the gale force 10 swept my glasses off my head into a rather defeated looking peony and I looked at my secateurs and wondered how far he's get if I decided to chase him threatening all manner of manly pruning.

But going back to the leaves, I have no trees in my garden whatsoever, and yet, around this time of the year my lawn and flower beds completely disappear under the leaves from neighbours' trees.  

It is polite to bag them up and chuck them back over the fence?  

Perhaps not..

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