Johnny Wilkinson’s mum?

Another day of rain and sun intertwined. I wasn’t so lucky though. Midway through weeding the gravel (where once my herb table stood) I was drenched when the blue sky was suddenly confounded by black, bulbous clouds which decided the weight of water inside was just too much to hold onto. So, like a man at the cricket after 18 pints of beer, it fell freely and without mercy.

The morning started off well enough. I walked Mirinda to the station early as she had a meeting in town and then had my usual at Starbucks. (Actually, yesterday the young barista asked me when I first had hazelnut in my coffee so I told him the story of the small place in Katoomba that introduced us to its nutty delights.) Fortunately I didn’t see Julie at Waitrose.

She’s having a really torrid time at work and threatens to make me miserable each time I talk to her. To be honest, she whispers so as not to be overheard which means I only hear about every fourth word. Most of the time I have no idea what she’s saying so just grunt sympathetically. I think, in all the time I’ve been talking to her, she’s only ever been happy twice. One of those times was when she thought she’d managed to find employment at another shop, only to be miserable the next day because she was unsuccessful.

Back at home, I managed to ring Mum and Dad (as opposed to yesterday when the phone company we use for international calls had to fix a dodgy router) and we chatted for ages before I headed out into the garden.

I planted hornimums (which are actually Salvia horminun) in the orange crate bed where we usually plant them, having removed a load of gravel and dead leaves and generally preparing the soil. I then started on the weeds.

During one beautifully sunny interval after lunch, I took the poodles to the park. There was a lot of people taking advantage of the momentary lack of rain. One group included about five kids and one mother (who was eventually joined by a second one). They were all playing cricket with a tennis ball. Poor mum was in the out field so every time one of the kids slogged at the ball, she’d have to run and get it. At one stage, the ball came towards me so I bent down, picked it up and threw it back to her.

Now, I’m not going to lambast all women for not being able to catch (basically because it’s patently not true) but this woman was hopeless. She closed her hands around where the ball had been seconds before and it dropped at her feet. She thanked me and picked it up, taking it to the kid who was bowling rather than throw it to him.

A little while later they had decided to kick a rugby ball around. One of the kids hoofed it and the poor mum had to go and retrieve it. The way she was holding the ball, I thought she was going to give it a bit of a punt but she decided she’d be better off (again) handing the ball back to the kids.

I guess you can tell, it wasn't very hot today

As we watched the fun and frolics, we were joined by a Scottish lady who took a keen interest in the poodles who were taking an equally keen interest in her whippets. She asked what they were and coo’ed over them. Day-z loved that. Carmen tried to ignore her. Eventually we were able to get away.

We managed to get home before the rain started again…just.

Pity the poor guy lying on the grass

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1 Response to Johnny Wilkinson’s mum?

  1. mum cook says:

    Well your rain is making up for all you haven’t had but a pain when it is kids holidays.
    love mum

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