A day off work. Good Friday. Birds are singing. The cat is stretched out in the sun. Time to do some graft.
We went shopping to the garden centre this afternoon, we had to wait for the skip. If I may just hop on my soap box for a second: £80 for a bleedin' skip! I nearly had kittens, but that was the cheapest I could to find that'd deliver to where we live (which isn't that back-of-beyond). I know that's 'the going rate', but it's a danm site less expensive to just chuck stuff in the river ;-)
Now Jem has been reading about gardening, and if you know Jema you'll know than means she has supernaturally absorbed 10 or 12 books and is now verging on the skill level of Percy Thrower.
I'm not joking here. It amazes me how she does it. I've seen her assimilate whole careers (that it'd take others years of Uni to aquire) by doing this. If she wasn't so cute it'd be scarey. She had some good, clear, practical ideas on what went in what soil, in what light and what would go with what colour etc.
I just followed along enthusiasticly with the cheque book.
A new personal best for the Smart car. 4 large bags of compost/mulch, what you see in the trolly (above), and a 3 carrier bags. People stopped and stared at us in the car park. She was a bit sluggish on acceleration on the way home.
Anyway. Taking down the odd small tree and crappy bushes. Put up some bird feeders for the cat. Stacking stuff in Daves (one of our v. special collection of neighbours) garden ready for burning. Digging and shifting turf. Drinking G and T in the sun. Lots or lifting, shoveling, carrying and running round with a wheelbarrow, while Jema laid stuff out and did some planting.
It's kinda nice this middle age home owner stuff. Kinda reassuring and comfortable and we've money to spend right now so may as well make the most of it. It seems, somehow, very British. Thank god it's not spoilt by children.
Tomorrow we should have some more constructive help than Pixie and should be able to get loads more done.