Hedge bed

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Mirinda had Book Group today so she spent the morning working on her doctorate while I attacked the hedge bed weeds.

During our Oz trip, the bind weed was very busy, entangling the clematis and euphorbia and generally creating a bed of scary proportions. It’s a delicate job, unthreading the twisty turns of creepers but I managed to get them isolated.

Then, applying Mirinda’s brilliant idea, I took the bottoms off some old plastic pots, threaded the bind weed through and sprayed them while preserving the plants we want. It looks quite weird but should be very effective.

Potted up bind weed

Potted up bind weed

By the time Miirinda returned from Chawton, having discussed Pride and Prejudice for a few hours, the bed looked almost back to normal…if you ignore the plastic pots, that is.

She asked how my muscles will be tomorrow but it wasn’t nearly as intense as the hot border last week so I’m thinking I won’t ache at all. Well, fingers crossed, anyway.

We were a bit concerned that the book group would stop because the librarian, who organises it, is leaving for a job in Sydney. However, one of her final jobs was to prepare a book list for the rest of this year and the beginning of next year. The group will now meet and discuss texts without the benefit of an adjudicator…though, to be honest, and from all reports, she wasn’t very good at it so she may not be missed at all.

Having completed the hedge bed, I managed to complete some administrative tasks in the office before we finished the day watching The Mentalist and having stir fry for dinner.

And it didn’t rain at all.

Weedless hedge bed

Weedless hedge bed

Father’s Day

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It was Father’s Day in the UK today. Completely unrelated to that, Suzanne and Rafi came over for a visit. This was the visit we didn’t have just before jetting off to Oz last month.

We had the usual stroll around the garden though Suzanne had to have a raincoat over her head because of the drizzle. We also had to have the heaters on because she was cold. She was saying how, this summer, she had not turned the central heating off yet and was dreading her bill. I am so glad my body is generally warm enough and my core temperature is set quite high.

Rafi was determined to have a light sabre fight even though his mum had forgotten to pack the actual light sabres (I’m fairly certain she forgot them on purpose) so he grabbed a couple of fronds from the banana tree and we tried with them. It wasn’t very successful.

We had Joey layer cake for lunch followed by plum puffs which had apple and banana in them instead, because the plums weren’t ripe. After lunch, Rafi and I settled down on the lounge for some DVD action while Mirinda and Suzanne wandered into town.

Along with the light sabres, Suzanne had also forgotten to pack Rafi’s movie choice, Wreck-it Ralph. Fortunately, BT Vision has it on the movie list so we could still watch it. What a cack! We laughed a lot. Actually, Suzanne reckons most of Rafi’s continuing enjoyment of these movies comes from my laughing at them.

Wreck-it Ralph is a character in a video game who is sick of being the bad guy all the time and wants to try his hand at winning a gold medal for being a hero. Of course this causes mayhem in the other video games, culminating in possible disaster in Sugar Rush, a racing cart game featuring lots of sweet things like lollies and candy canes.

Sarah Silverman was terrific as the glitch (Vanellope von Schweetz) though Suzanne did refer to her as the one with the annoying voice. And John C. Reilly was perfect as Ralph.

It was a lot of non-stop fun which we both thoroughly enjoyed.

Before the main feature, Rafi was adamant that we had to watch a short (20 minute) Lego Star Wars film. It was hilarious. Thoroughly. We didn’t stop laughing. Of course you’d have to know Star Wars but we both do, so no problem there.

Eventually Mirinda and Suzanne returned and our visitors had to leave for the train down to the Isle of Wight, leaving the house once more peaceful.

rafi

Letter to the Queen

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Last Tuesday evening, the phone rang, interrupting the conversation I was having with Nicktor. We thought it was either Mirinda or a cold caller. Whichever, I had to answer it. It was neither.

It was David, a chap I know from the Talking Newspaper. My first thought was he wanted a swap but he immediately dispelled this thought by declaring he wasn’t calling on Talking News business.

David is a bit political (to say the least) and wondered whether I’d be happy to distribute leaflets in my immediate vicinity then return a few days later to talk my neighbours through the proposals contained in it. I asked him what the leaflet was about.

He explained. It seems that Farnham has been having a lot of problems with the borough council (Waverley) ignoring what Farnham wants. Or needs. Waverley seems to concentrate on the bigger towns and cities in their remit (Guildford, Godalming, anywhere starting with ‘G’) and we (meaning David and his friends) want to leave Waverley and set up on our own.

I told him there was no way I’d go door to door, regardless of the proposition. He then caught me in a weak moment, asking me whether I’d come and spend a couple of hours in the Borough canvassing for signatures to a petition to the Queen, instead of going door to door.

And so today, just after 11:15, I headed into the town of Farnham to do my bit for the hopefully new state of Farnham.

They (dare I say we?) need 20,000 signatures on a letter that they are planning to send to the Queen. The letter states the problems and the solution. If you want to read more, they have a website, here.

One thing that bothers and irritates me is the fact that the council is predominantly made up of one political party. (It doesn’t matter which one.) This means that the council takes it’s orders from party HQ and not from the local population. Parliament is one thing but when it comes to the day-to-day running of my life, I really want someone independent making the decisions for me.

One other thing that bothered and irritated me was the fact that it rained almost continuously while I stood collecting signatures. Worse than party politics, I hate being damp.

At one point, David came across the road to see how I was getting on. He asked me if I was accosting people. I replied “Not if I can help it!” knowing how I’d feel. It didn’t stop him. His accosting skills were pretty refined.

Anyway, it wasn’t all that bad and my two hours was quickly over. In all I managed to collect nine signatures and distributed a few brochures to interested members of the public.

I’m fairly certain I agree with the idea of Farnham being self governing but I have a few questions about the day-to-day little things that a council does.

For instance, what about our council tax? Will we now pay it to Farnham Council and, if so, will they reduce it so that they can stop sending money to councils up north because they don’t work and earning anything?

Also, what about garbage collection and recycling? Who’s going to organise that? And the park?

There’s so many little things and I’d like an answer before I actually commit myself to…oops, I’ve just realised that one of those nine signatures I collected was mine. I guess I’m in the mix now then.

Diorama

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For some reason known only to her, Mirinda has bid for and won, an Arts & Crafts diorama on ebay. Even she admits she doesn’t know why.

Coincidentally, today at work, I researched one single object and all the people featured in it. The object was a diorama. I should stress that it wasn’t the same diorama.

Made in the late 1950′s in the Museum Workshop, the museum diorama depicts a moment in 1677 when the Naval Board met to discuss the dimensions of the new English fleet. It was as a result of an act of parliament requiring 30 new ships to be built.

It features a book lined, room with a big oak table in the middle. Upon the table is a ship of the line. Around the table are seven figures. Six of them are discussing the ship, gesturing and generally making their points.

The figure at the head of the table, complete with luxuriant black curls, is King Charles II. He sits back in his chair as if happy to hear what his subjects have to say, not really part of the decision making process apart from his signature.

At the other end of the table sits Samuel Pepys, scribbling down notes, acting as a sort of Restoration minute secretary. It’s tempting to think he is reporting the event in the eponymous diary but, actually, he is taking notes about the meeting in his capacity as a naval official.

The other figures represent various stages in the administration and construction of the ships. These include the tearaway and general mad adventurer, Prince Rupert. Here was a man who liked to live life on the edge. He took the upheaval of the monarchy, embraced it and ran down the street yelling “Bring it on!” to anyone who’d listen.

Basically German, Rupert was, at various times, great mates with Charles. They’d known each other throughout the Civil War, with Rupert fighting either on land or sea, in England or Europe in an effort to restore the king to power.

Two figures in the diorama are, arguably, the most important. They are the ship builders Sir Anthony Deane and Sir John Tippetts.

Deane was an exceptional man. Born the son of a shipwright, he managed to pull himself up by his own bootstraps to become one of the most important shipbuilders of the 1600′s. His designs were revolutionary, his ships fantastic. Eventually becoming the Master at the Royal Docks in Portsmouth, he took the navy down a route that would eventually lead to the Establishment of 1733.

His rise to greatness was helped in a large degree to his fortuitous meeting with Samuel Pepys. Pepys saw something in Deane and the two became the best of friends. Samuel’s position allowed him to push forward those he thought best suited for naval positions. And so he pushed Deane.

While they were, no doubt, good friends, it also has to be noted that Pepys didn’t like the Pett family, who dominated ship building at the time. I guess, anything that would remove them from the scene was a good thing in his books.

Sir John Tippetts I haven’t been able to find an awful lot about but it’s interesting to note that by the time of the diorama, he was reaching the end of his naval career because of his gout. Eventually, when it became obvious he couldn’t leave his house, his services were no longer required.

Anyway, it was a day well spent. As usual, I spent lunchtime wandering around the V&A and spotted this little group taking photographs on Narcissus’ pool.

photo

Nothing odd about that, I guess…unless you take a closer look at the models. It’s not often that couples wear matching hair and trousers.

green

Dull

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Today was mostly about housework. It rained most of the day so the garden did not receive any business. I thought it best to stay inside. The poodles didn’t agree.

Late in the day, the rain stopped and a weak, almost summery sun broke through for a little bit. It didn’t last.

Apart from the fact that, when I retired, the house was all clean and tidy, it was a pretty dull day.

Schumanian Surveyor

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Today the surveyor turned up to accurately measure the house, inside and out. This is the second step in the extension process and preliminary to the proper drawings being completed by the architect. And he was right, it took five hours.

He turned up at 9am, was a bit reticent about the dogs (clearly not a dog person and nothing like Dennis the floor guy) but he was fine after I assured him they would stay with me. He set to work as I retreated into the office for a bit of scanning.

The weather was pretty horrid all day so the garden was out of bounds, though I did a small it of repair work in the top soil where a cat, hedgehog, fox or bear had been scratching away.

I’d managed to sneak away from Dural with the photo album that contained Bob’s sporting photos of 1954. There’s some great box brownie shots of football, athletics and tennis. I also found, at the back of the album, some lovely shots of Claire, at least two taken by Ray Brookes. The album kept me busy while the surveyor did his thing.

Leichhardt-Annandale (lighter shirts) v Cessnock 12/9/54

Leichhardt-Annandale (lighter shirts) v Cessnock 12/9/54

Near the end of his time with us, the Schumanian surveyor set up his total station and staff in the garden and started plotting the building in space (I know Mirinda will frown at my use of the word ‘space’ but I really have no idea what else to call it) as well as measuring it vertically without the use of a ladder. It was then a few photographs and he was finished.

It was after 2pm when I bid him farewell and finally had some lunch. It was then off to town for Date Night.

On Sunday night, after the Globe and sometime in the dark reaches of the early morning, I slipped in the bathroom and collided with the edge of the bathroom sink. Fortunately the edges of the sink are rounded and quick big. I vaguely remember it happening but the pain wasn’t that great. However, this afternoon, three days later, I suddenly had a black eye.

I was conscious of people looking at me a bit strangely so, when I arrived at the flat, I looked in the mirror to find out what about my visage was perplexing people. And there it was. Not huge, rather it appeared that I had applied eye shadow to one eye. It didn’t hurt.

I didn’t realise black eyes took three days to appear (maybe it’s just me) but I do think there should be some sort of warning.

What I had expected was a mass of aches and pains from the gardening effort yesterday. In this, I was not disappointed. Anything that required the stretching of the backs of my legs caused great discomfort and pain. Even sitting down was difficult.

Neither of us felt like going out (the night was not pleasant and we’re both still a bit lagged) so we sat in the flat and watched Mirinda’s favourite show and chatted. An odd Date Night. Hopefully our biologicals will return to normality soon and things can get back to the way we prefer them.

And just to finish on an annoying note…I missed the 9:30pm train home by 30 seconds.

Essential gardening

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Today was spent, almost exclusively, in the garden (I’m going to ache tomorrow), as I made a start repairing the weed drenched hot border.

The weather, at first, didn’t shine kindly on me. Actually it didn’t shine at all, a constant light drizzle falling all day. Normally this would be a bit of a put off but today it worked out quite well, cooling me down and keeping the soil damp.

I started at one end and just kept going, removing hundreds of little misplaced plants while taking care around the ones we’d placed intentionally. And there was the horrid bind weed, it’s evil tendrils trying to dominate anything pleasant trying to grow skywards. Particularly invidious, the ghastly white strands of bind weed spaghetti, succumbed to my little hand fork.

At the back of the hot border is a rosemary bush which has not been happy since being transplanted. It’s even more miserable now, given I dug it up and threw it on the stick pile. The plan is that we’ll get a new, healthier one this weekend to replace it.

After I’d finished the constant bending, pulling, digging and inserting into a black garbage bag, I stood up and surveyed my work. It was with a sense of achievement that I started to barrow loads of top soil to be spread out over the weedless bed.

The top soil is the ton of dirt I moved earlier in the year and it was with a great sense of relief that I finally used some of it.

Finally, following hours of mud and toil, this is how it finished:

Weeded and top soiled

Weeded and top soiled and ready for the biddens

And, with even greater joy than a hot border full of bright poppies, Nicktor came over for the first Nicktor Night for over a month.

We celebrated by watching two movies. The first, Liar, had a sparkling array of acting promise (Tim Roth, Chris Penn, Renee Zellwegger, Rosanna Arquette, to name but a few) and an interesting premise (man beats lie detector test and escapes the law) but was not very good. All I can really say about it was that it was very arty, a bit pretentious and far too confusing. We were not impressed.

Our second film, however, was the brilliant Ted. Knowing nothing about it apart from the basic premise of a boy who wishes his teddy bear alive, I have been reticent about seeing it. However, Nicktor insisted that I would love it…and he was so right!

Matt Damon is superb. Mila Kunis is gorgeous. Ted is extraordinary. Made by Seth MacFarlane, responsible for Family Guy, it is incredibly funny with many, many cultural reference liberally sprinkled through it. Ted is voiced by Seth MacFarlane, who is also the voice of Peter Griffin in Family Guy, and is beautifully manufactured. (Mila Kunis is also one of the regular Family Guy voices, playing Meg Griffin.)

A couple of highlights include Patrick Stewart giving a hilarious narration at the beginning and end of the movie and Nora Jones featuring as one of Ted’s ex-lovers.

That more or less gives a flavour of the film that thoroughly entertained the two of us in ways that Liar before it could never hope to do. But then, it is pretty much meant to entertain males who laugh at anything.

I should add that Matt and James bought the DVD of Ted for Dawn for mother’s day. A very odd choice which caused some squirming on the lounge when they watched it as a family.

Ready for my close up, Mr de Mille

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The other reason I stayed at the flat last night was in order to be fresh and bright for a photo shoot at the Science Museum. This had been planned a couple of months ago by the volunteer co-ordinator in an attempt to update the website with pictures of actual volunteers (currently the site has images of full time staff pretending to be volunteers) and to produce brochures and flyers.

Sally (the co-ordinator) at first organised a date I couldn’t make but this was changed to today and was totally looking forward to it. I mean, I even had a haircut and colour in Queensland last week especially.

First thing though, I woke up at 5am, looked at my watch, groaned and went back to sleep for an hour. 6am saw me up and out of bed, scrabbling for a black coffee (the milk in the fridge had turned to a watery cheese). The excesses of last night had left me feeling somewhat seedy so it was a rather slow start to the day.

Eventually the shop downstairs opened so I could buy some fresh, usable milk, which was a good deal easier to get down. I left the flat at 9am and walked to the ferry.

The ferry is still the best way to start the day. A lovely, leisurely float up the river, beats the packed with humanity, smelly and hot Tube, any day.

I grabbed a latte at Starbucks at South Kensington and then went down to the basement. Everyone was pleased to see me (they’re such a nice bunch of people down there) and I settled into Kevin’s desk as if it was a Friday. I was surprised not to see Kevin because he’s usually in on a Monday but Nick told me he was climbing a mountain in Scotland somewhere for a couple of weeks…as you do.

The photo shoot was scheduled to begin at 11am. I was sitting at the desk, going through my hundreds of emails (I felt like Mirinda) as the clock moved to 10:57. Suddenly the voice we all dread suddenly broke the silence of the basement.

“Please evacuate the Museum by the nearest possible exit.”

And so we all grabbed our coats and walked out into Exhibition Road while the fire brigade sorted out whatever needed sorting out. The museum had been opened for an hour so there were plenty of visitors as well as staff to account for. And then, for half an hour, we stood outside one of the UCL buildings, waiting for the all clear.

Eventually we were allowed back in and I once more sat at Kevin’s desk to finish deleting emails.

After a while I decided I could actually do some work while I was waiting. And I discovered that a MIMSY record was completely wrong, identifying a ship model as a ship that never existed. I love it when I do that. Nick was also delighted.

I emailed Sally to find out what was happening with the photoshoot now she was horribly behind schedule. I didn’t really want to spend the entire day there if she was going to reschedule but she assured me that she’d be down soon.

And so she was. Firstly they went into the file store to photograph Christina sorting out the file boxes (the photographer told us that was difficult to make interesting) and then, finally, they came to me.

There followed almost an hour of sitting still and changing position by millimetres as she snapped away with various lenses and with Nick holding the flash gun. I saw some of the photographs and they look very good but who knows what Sally will use. After ‘doing’ me, they were off to shoot some front-of-house volunteers in the museum and these are the ones that are generally used. We’ll see. Obviously, I shall post more when I find out.

It was then home for me with the promise of my return on Friday.

And the poodles went insane. Generally they jump around and say “hello, we’ve missed you” for about five minutes but today, after a month. they refused to leave me alone for about two hours.

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While the garden is not at its best following our trip, a lovely bunch of poppies have emerged from the hot border, considerably brightening everything.

Tall poppies

Tall poppies

And in the ex-nettle bed, the Cistus bushes are awash with flowers. The white ones are more widespread but I rather like the pink ones.

Like tissue paper

Like tissue paper

Jet lag and the Globe

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Today was the first Globe outing for the Weasels this yearn and The Tempest was the play. I set off from Aldershot (Mirinda kindly drove me on her way to pick up the poodles from the kennel) because of engineering work, which meant buses from Alton to Aldershot.

Because of the aforementioned engineering work, I had made up my mind to stay at the flat, knowing full well that following the theatre, the Weasels would insist on drinking half of London dry. Staying at the flat was a good decision.

Having dropped my stuff at the flat (and briefly skyping with Mirinda, Fiona and Bob), I went back to the Jubilee Line to London Bridge to meet them at the Anchor, our usual pre-Globe rendezvous. For a change, I was the first one there but I didn’t have long to wait for the others and we were soon sitting with a pint, catching up on our various adventures.

We were Lorna and Darren, John (of course), Lindy, Rob and Carla (or Clara…I can’t remember) and Tom. Unfortunately Bev and her new beau Jon, had to pull out so our usual first substitution, Tottie also joined us. Handily, Tottie has been in a production of The Tempest and could furnish me with handy answers when required.

We were in our favourite Gentlemen’s box again and would have started laying out the food and wine but for the fact that John seemed to have disappeared. This was a bit odd because he’s usually one of the first to start hauling food out of his backpack, covering the table in tasty morsels. Everyone looked around in wonder and enquiry but of John, there was no sign. And then he appeared looking flustered and very un-Johnlike.

“They confiscated my penknife,” He declared, holding his fingers barely two inches apart, indicating the weapon’s length. “I had to show them inside the bag and, when they spotted the penknife, they said I might drop it over the balcony. They didn’t bother searching me though. I could have had something far more serious about my person! And then this idiot of foreign extraction asked me about the wine box. He forced me to open the top in case it was full of bottles. I tried to explain to him what a wine box was but he was having none of it. As I said, he was an idiot.”

This was a very entertaining way to start our day of theatre – a sort of entre-acte in fact.

The performance was exquisite. From the start, with the thunder sheets and tinkling xylophone, bodies being tossed and turned by the imaginary wind and waves, it held great promise and more than delivered.

A little while ago, watching the Reduced Shakespeare Company with Dawn, I was struck by the fact that they classed The Tempest as a comedy. Apart from Prospero’s Books, a film by Peter Greenaway starring Sir John Guilgud as Prospero, I’ve not seen a production of the play though I know the story quite well. A comedy, I thought, how could this be? But a comedy, it certainly was.

Among a wonderful cast, Caliban (played zealously by James Garnon) stood out as a very special performance. I’m not sure if the audience is supposed to feel a bit sorry for him and his situation but I certainly did. He is sorely mistreated by Prospero simply because he is who he is, a poor neglected native who has had his island taken away from him. But this feeling of pity for Caliban was generously tempered with hilarity thanks to the acting talents of James. If I never see another Caliban, it won’t matter a jot. He was superb.

Half time at the Globe

Half time at the Globe

As Propero, the recogniseably voiced Roger Allam, was believable and strong though, for some reason, I didn’t quite believe him. I’m not sure why that was because he was more than adequate in the role.

The rest of the cast also excelled, in particular Trevor Fox as Trinculo the jester who, at one stage, clumsily urinated on the front row of the groundlings. While the rest of the theatre erupted into laughter, the now wet groundlings were not that pleased about it. He later doused another section in wine as he waved a bottle around.

The Weasels all agreed, the performance was superb as we headed off for the first of our pubs on the north bank of the Thames. I’m not going to bore anyone reading this by ticking off the names of them but I would just like to say that our favourite watering hole, the Black Friar’s at Blackfriars, will now probably be struck off the list. They have introduced an eating only section in the back of the pub. This is where we would always sit and drink. No more, it seems.

On the black list

On the black list

It was somewhat later while sat in the Coal Hole that a very strong wave of jet lag poured through me. Staggering to my feet and collecting my jacket, I bid my farewells and headed out, back to the flat. I’m not sure how I managed it but I reached the flat, unlocked the door and threw myself onto the bed just before sleep engulfed me. A lucky thing, indeed. I would never had made it to Farnham.

A few Weasels

A few Weasels

Smiling faces

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[...continued from yesterday...]

I spent four hours wandering around Hong Kong airport. Fortunately it’s very big with lots of bright, friendly shops. I was too full to eat and didn’t want to buy anything so wandering was all I did. Then the shops started to close and the milling hordes gradually dispersed. For the final hour of waiting I snoozed, along with my fellow passengers, at gate 19 until we, finally, boarded.

The plane was full of mostly Chinese and Australian passengers. Still, Premium Economy meant I was comfortable and I managed to sleep for about seven hours although fitfully. During supper I watched two episodes of Miranda (coincidentally, so did Mirinda on her flight from Singapore but two different episodes) before going to sleep.

After waking up, I watched the instantly forgettable The Last Stand with Arnie Schwarzenegger. I do wonder how he can make films while serving as the governor of California. I do not recommend this film to anyone.

The guy in the window seat next to me (an Australian) barely moved for the entire flight. He was probably about 70, didn’t watch anything on the in-flight entertainment, didn’t read, didn’t listen to anything. I think he slept. He only went to the loo twice – I know because I had to get out of my seat for him.

There was another guy near me who wore a paper face mask over his mouth, an eye mask over his eyes, earplugs in his ears, courtesy slippers and a blanket over his lower body for the entire journey. He looked like a mental patient in some dystopian future. He looked younger than me and a bit sad.

We arrived in London half an hour earlier than our delay allowed us. One of the numerous great things about Premium Economy is that you get off the plane before the cattle class victims. Given you have to wait for your luggage anyway, this works out perfectly. It also means there’s less of a crush at customs. I used the electronic gates anyway, where there’s never a crush.

Spare a thought for the poor transferring passengers who all took off like rockets, trying to make their flights.

I visited four airports in around 24 hours and I have to say that Heathrow was the worst. Everywhere else, service staff of all kinds were helpful, happy and smiling. I immediately knew I was back in Britain. The shop staff in Hong Kong were particularly courteous even when ushering you out of their shops because they were closing. Their apologies were meant, for a start.

The computers were down at the Central Bus Station. This meant that the indicator boards were blank and none of the ticket machines were working. I asked a chap behind a desk where I was supposed to get a ticket, knowing that you had to get a ticket before travelling. He was very adamant in insisting that the driver had to sell me one and that I was not to take ‘no’ for an answer. He was quite forceful, insisting I could get a ticket from the driver as long as I had cash.

I had no problem buying a ticket from the driver. I had the correct money but felt a bit sorry for the old chap (at least 115) in front of me who tried to buy a ticket with an out of date coin. I ended up giving the driver the 50p the old chap needed. I’m fairly certain he has no idea that I paid it. I wasn’t being particularly generous or charitable…I just wanted to get home before the week was out.

Behind me on the coach was a young lad talking on his phone. He said that 25% of the reason he went to Australia was to experience a long-haul flight. I felt like telling him the novelty very quickly wore off.

I eventually reached home (engineering work between Aldershot and Alton delayed me a bit) to a rather wild garden. A month of sun and rain and no attention had turned it into a jungle. But, before I could tackle the impossible, I had to go shopping. Besides I wanted to leave it till Mirinda saw it.

I visited Starbucks and Waitrose then returned home to wait for Mirinda to arrive. Her flight landed at around 3:30pm and the taxi dropped her off about 5ish. Her eyes widened in surprise at the garden. I then attacked the grass with the mower.

We both eventually crashed at 9:30 having only had Vegemite and toast for dinner.