As I peered into Facebook as I scoffed brekkie I saw that quite a few people were selling off their fishing gear today. Have you seen the price of fishing tackle? I’ve mentioned it before; it ain’t cheap. When I was a lad I used to go fishing and pay for pretty much everything I needed out of my pocket money. Anything that was beyond that budget (rod, reel, tackle bags and holdalls) weren’t beyond the budget of grinning hopefully at a grandparent and saying I’d been a good boy. These days the same odds and sods (hooks, floats, weights, bit of bait) that would have cost a small fraction of a child’s weekly pocket money would set you back the thick end of forty quid.
There were also a few posts from teacher friends saying no one is ever as tired as a teacher at the end of term and how today sees the start of their (two-month) summer holiday. I thought about making sarcastic and bitter comments but thought better of doing so.
Pausing only briefly for Bailey to be sick I got dressed and cracked on with what promised to be a rather dull day.
I went into the front garden and spent an hour or so pulling weeds out of the cracks in the concrete. As I pulled I exchanged pleasantries with passers-by. As I was pulling I realised I was being watched. There was a nurse (in nurse uniform) who remarked “you’re doing well today, Mr. Smith”. From my reaction she then asked if I was Mr. Smith. She seemed rather miffed that I wasn’t, and after a little fiddling around it turned out that whilst she was at the right number house, she was in the wrong street. She wanted Beaver Lane, rather than Beaver Road.
Woops.
I pulled weeds out of the cracks in the concrete in the back garden then took Bailey to the vet. She needed a check-up before Monday’s surgery. (I don’t know why Morgan didn’t)
All seemed well; it was a shame she had to bark at an Alsatian, but the Alsatian wasn’t bothered.
We came home and I then took a pair of garden scissors to the edges of the stepping stones that go up the lawn until “er indoors TM” came up with some scran. She’d baked a loaf which we scoffed with real butter. Very tasty.
She then went off shopping and I carried on in the garden generally tidying up. As I tidied a helicopter came past followed by a spitfire doing barrel rolls. What was that all about?
By this time I’d been working in the garden for about five hours. The garden looks OK, but (in all honesty) doesn’t look very different from how it did when I started.
Have I ever mentioned how much I hate gardening?
“My Boy TM”, Cheryl and Ro-Ro popped in. They seemed well. And once they’d popped off we took the dogs to the woods as it had cooled down a bit by then. Morgan rather disgraced himself by trying to pick a fight with a passing Spaniel, and compounded his disgrace by bothering a rather amorous couple. To be honest if anyone is planning to “do the dirty deed” in Orlestone Woods I’d suggest getting off of the main paths and being a little less conspicuous.
We ran into this couple a little later in the car park where they were trying to suck each other’s faces off. Ain’t love sweet?
I had thought today was going to be dull. It wasn’t quite as dull as it might have been. But it was as hot as had been forecast (*very* hot!) and that together with all the crouching and crawling doing the weeding has taken its toll.
I really ache… and feel a bit grim too.
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