Flowers in the window...
My garden is finished. Not almost finished, not 'nearly there', but completely finished. As am I...
The husband has been most accommodating over the past few months of lockdown, and I have made the most of the fact that for three months or so, he had very little to do which didn't involve pleasing me. Apart from the new hose attachment (I can't leave this alone which is worrying the husband) the water feature and some new gravel for the drive, he has over the last two weekends completed a mammoth task of removing the weed-infested border from the side of the drive, and replaced it with a wall of railway sleepers which looks a lot neater. I did the pretty stuff yesterday and filled it with potted plants.
Boy, was I pleased.
Going back to the plants which I put on the sleepers, I did my utmost to not be too OCD about what went where, but as you can see from my photo, I failed miserably. Staring at it yesterday afternoon, the husband said, 'You used a tape measure so that the pots were all the same distance apart, didn't you?'
Well I hadn't, but I was strangely chuffed that it looked like I had. I must confess, there was a bit of cyclamen shuffling done to ensure that I didn't have two pink ones in front of the same panel, but that's normal, isn't it?
So I have managed to break the husband this weekend. He passed out on the deckchair yesterday afternoon around 4.00 and I left him there till 6.00 when I woke him up for food.
'I've not been asleep you know', he said. This is a standard declaration always given when I wake him up after a snoozle.
'Of course you haven't', I replied. 'Mind you, Mr and Mrs B have had to take their family inside to eat as they couldn't hear themselves talking over the snoring'.
Having said that, after all that planting, it could have been me, but I would never admit that to the husband...
The husband has been most accommodating over the past few months of lockdown, and I have made the most of the fact that for three months or so, he had very little to do which didn't involve pleasing me. Apart from the new hose attachment (I can't leave this alone which is worrying the husband) the water feature and some new gravel for the drive, he has over the last two weekends completed a mammoth task of removing the weed-infested border from the side of the drive, and replaced it with a wall of railway sleepers which looks a lot neater. I did the pretty stuff yesterday and filled it with potted plants.
Boy, was I pleased.
Going back to the plants which I put on the sleepers, I did my utmost to not be too OCD about what went where, but as you can see from my photo, I failed miserably. Staring at it yesterday afternoon, the husband said, 'You used a tape measure so that the pots were all the same distance apart, didn't you?'
Well I hadn't, but I was strangely chuffed that it looked like I had. I must confess, there was a bit of cyclamen shuffling done to ensure that I didn't have two pink ones in front of the same panel, but that's normal, isn't it?
So I have managed to break the husband this weekend. He passed out on the deckchair yesterday afternoon around 4.00 and I left him there till 6.00 when I woke him up for food.
'I've not been asleep you know', he said. This is a standard declaration always given when I wake him up after a snoozle.
'Of course you haven't', I replied. 'Mind you, Mr and Mrs B have had to take their family inside to eat as they couldn't hear themselves talking over the snoring'.
Having said that, after all that planting, it could have been me, but I would never admit that to the husband...
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