The Sunday gardener
Working on my The Moth Display poem first thing, then after some time spent mainly wanting to bang my head on the table, stopped. I also explained at length my new vision to Lorraine: 4 stone lighter the Peter Kenny way. Stage one involves lots of positive visualisation about what being 4 stone lighter would be like, and then stage two is to spurn & reject food. Simple but brilliant.
After a small bowl of muesli, and me refreshing her on key points of my plan, Lorraine suggested that we do some work in my garden. Then she drove us off to a garden centre in the afternoon just the other side of the downs, where I bought a few plants that can endure a shady corner of a Twitten snail sanctuary.
Garden centre doing enormous business, and it's hard not to go mad in there and return with an English jungle in the boot. Noticed it was quite a day out for the old folks too, who seemed to be enjoying its cafe and browsing happily among the busy lizzies. Home, and under Lorraine's supervision, undertook a general tidying of my tiny back yard. Lots of repotting going on too, especially of hostas reduced to ratty shreds by the gastropod hordes. Curse those insatiable sap-crazed fiends and their bestial appetites.
Lorraine in typical Taurean fashion, was positively itching to plunge her hands into the earth. And also seeming to know things about flowers and plants, such as their names and temperaments. She also has strong opinions about colours. Mainly that flowers should be white, or greenish white, or yellowish white, or bluish white. Or the colour of something stored in a dusty attic for many generations till appropriately faded. She also likes black grasses.
After spending happy hours about this business, we went off for an enjoyable and fairly restrained early curry in a place called the Ashoka in Hove. The 4 stone lighter the Peter Kenny way was not breached, as the only other thing eaten was the aforementioned museli.
Later I spent some more time alone tidying the front garden, and tending to the Arum lilies which despite some predation by passersby, remain glorious. Searching my soul as I did so, and realised that I must surely now be middle aged to find gardening so theraputic.
Working on my The Moth Display poem first thing, then after some time spent mainly wanting to bang my head on the table, stopped. I also explained at length my new vision to Lorraine: 4 stone lighter the Peter Kenny way. Stage one involves lots of positive visualisation about what being 4 stone lighter would be like, and then stage two is to spurn & reject food. Simple but brilliant.
After a small bowl of muesli, and me refreshing her on key points of my plan, Lorraine suggested that we do some work in my garden. Then she drove us off to a garden centre in the afternoon just the other side of the downs, where I bought a few plants that can endure a shady corner of a Twitten snail sanctuary.
Garden centre doing enormous business, and it's hard not to go mad in there and return with an English jungle in the boot. Noticed it was quite a day out for the old folks too, who seemed to be enjoying its cafe and browsing happily among the busy lizzies. Home, and under Lorraine's supervision, undertook a general tidying of my tiny back yard. Lots of repotting going on too, especially of hostas reduced to ratty shreds by the gastropod hordes. Curse those insatiable sap-crazed fiends and their bestial appetites.
Lorraine in typical Taurean fashion, was positively itching to plunge her hands into the earth. And also seeming to know things about flowers and plants, such as their names and temperaments. She also has strong opinions about colours. Mainly that flowers should be white, or greenish white, or yellowish white, or bluish white. Or the colour of something stored in a dusty attic for many generations till appropriately faded. She also likes black grasses.
After spending happy hours about this business, we went off for an enjoyable and fairly restrained early curry in a place called the Ashoka in Hove. The 4 stone lighter the Peter Kenny way was not breached, as the only other thing eaten was the aforementioned museli.
Later I spent some more time alone tidying the front garden, and tending to the Arum lilies which despite some predation by passersby, remain glorious. Searching my soul as I did so, and realised that I must surely now be middle aged to find gardening so theraputic.
Below hostas.
Comments
Doesn't count though First Matie, because a) you are a Taurean, and b) you were found in a bracken nest in the forest of dean.
Ha to wossface.