In an extraordinarily stupid bit of news today, it seems the people of Malawi will no longer be able to break wind. Well, in public anyway. Remarkable. Read this for a jolly good chuckle. It’s interesting how a lot of nations are rioting for democracy while Malawi seeks to correct the real world issues.
Meanwhile back in merry old England…the weather continues grimly. I was all set to collect the poodles today but then a few things occurred to me so I extended their tripe quotient by a day. My reasons are:
- I wanted to repair some electrical problems in the house and whenever I lie down on the floor, both of them think it’s a game and jump all over me. This could be a problem when it comes to changing electrical junction boxes on the skirting board. I also needed to pop down to Homebase for a bit of kit, which they hate me doing.
- I’m off to see Aldershot play tonight which would have meant a lonely night for them both just after a stay away for the weekend and I thought they’d prefer if I didn’t go out.
- I want to walk them home after I pick them up and with no rain today and sun promised tomorrow, it seemed a better option to walk them home tomorrow.
- I needed to go shopping for supplies, which, obviously, I had to do before picking them up which would have meant picking them up in the afternoon, washing them then leaving them for a few hours (see reason 2).
And so, tomorrow, nice and early, I shall set off on the bus then return across country for the five mile tramp home and, hopefully, get it right this time.
As well as the electrical work, I busied myself in the garden seeing as it wasn’t raining – though it was cold today…it didn’t get above 5 all day.
One of Mirinda’s big jobs for me was getting rid of the golden hop. In the heights of summer, this is beautiful as it spreads somewhat haphazardly up, down and across the fence that divides us with the Crazies. In the winter, however, it is a different story. It looks awful. Like so many dead tentacles, wound tightly around flimsy bits of green wire. Here is what it looked like after lunch:
I cut away at it, machete in hand, slashing and sparing nothing in my frenzy. I was a whirlwind. I had no idea of the time as I bent to my task, picking the reluctant branches away, untwisting them from the green wire. The day grew older as I worked backwards into the garden, picking up the detritus that once was old growth. I stuffed it into the barrow, winding it around like some giant blue tit nest and flung it, triumphantly onto the stick pile. I’m expecting a pelican to take it away in the night and set it up as an exclusive Dural residence. The fence now looks like this:
But I didn’t stop there. I was flushed with success and my blood was still up so I grabbed the branch shears and attacked the butterfly bushes with renewed gusto, reducing them to pollard like structures, reaching for the sky with twiggy fingers. The branches eventually joined the hops on the twig pile.
I stood back and admired my handiwork and I saw it was good. I rested for a day before creating the seas.
I feel a great sense of achievement. The hops are gone and the stairs now have a working light. Life is good. Now, as long as Aldershot beat Gillingham tonight, all will be perfect.