It is - or at any rate has been - too damned hot. And despite it, my lovely next-door neighbour cut my hedge for me in the middle of the day. He was looking for distractions, I think, poor chap: he flies home to Jamaica tonight to see his father, who has had a stroke. Nevertheless, it was exceedingly kind of him and I deluged him with strawberriesandraspberriesandcream by way of thanks.
PS: he locked himself out too this morning - it’s an epidemic, I tell you - and came knocking to access his back door via my fence - a most alarming manouevre, given that he is not exactly a featherweight. But my stepladder meant that he could reach a windowsill without trusting too much weight to the fence, which really isn’t man enough for the job.
Took the first step today and rang the Freedom Project, re dog fostering. They didn’t laugh me out of court at all and are sending Forms (which no doubt will scrutinise me moral character minutely - oh dear) and will then do a Visit. Pidge, as a Fine Cat of Great Magnificence, will regard a dog in her abode as as much below her notice as a woodlouse, so that will be all right with her. It is bin night, and I have discarded many more things. Possibly a waste, but she would not be happy about anyone having her Things. Or my shocking pink yoga mat, which she systematically shredded over the (too few) years. Well-knackered, that is.
Oooh, a little additional sadness. While I was doing the beginning of the bin dance, the wee lad-wot-has-suddenly-shot-up from over the road was out, practising wheelies. While I took my eyes off him, he has turned from a pleasant, chatty child into a morose and monosyllabic (pre?) teen. Note to Gus: don’t talk to him, it only emarrasses the poor feller.
Mr Soo cut our hedges, this morning and Mme La Chatelaine thought that was a trifle foolish, given the heat. So she told him. He says he will be trimming the bushes in the back garden tomorrow and the temperature is forecast to be just as high as today’s. Sigh.
We are enjoying a drop or two of fizz and for dinner we had prawns and courgettes in a spicy tomato sauce with onion rice. I’m told that it was delicious and I am puffed out with pride and pleasure.
Carinthia is working wonders with my latest fascinator - she has a bit ovva flare for these things, you know.
“A bit of a flare” is what Mr Bee is liable to have, unless you douse him in suitable ungulates (or thereabouts).
Fizz ansd supper both sound splendid and a bit of Beely pride is not misplaced. Don’t go getting that fascinator tangled up in the antennae, though, there’s a love.
Respects to the Chatelaine and the Bee household.
G xxx
Week 1 was ripping out the old & then prepping leccy, gaz & plumb-ing … then building a false wall so we didn’t have a 3" step in one side, then plastering. We painted that over Sunday with new plaster-compatible paint (who knew ??) and, today the floor tiles went down … only to discover we are 3 short.
As it was too late to get a delivery & the actual units arrive tomorrow guess who’s going to Peterborough & back at the crack of dawn. (Well, not ACTUALLY the crack of dawn as … a). That’s unfair on Dawn
b). At this time of year that’s 4 15am).
Nonetheless, if on the A41, M6, M6 Toll, M6 again, A14, A47, A43 tomorrow please move over as I’m in a nurry.
Oh crikey, Armers, dere, that all sounds slightly fraught. The trick is to keep breathing. Noooo, to keep breathing properly. You can do this Even while driving inordinate distances in search of tiles. In-two-three. Hold for four. Exhale slowly for eight. hold for four. IN-one-two-three-four. Aaaand hold for four, Exhale slowly for eight and hold for four. And there you go.
Grouting. Dearie me, the grouting.
Do the good breathing really well, Armers, and we shall between us unthink any grouting issues … and eight. Hold for four. And in for four and hold…
It is also Very Warm hereabouts. Carinthia put the finishing touches to The Fascinator (which is gloriously gorgeous and Very Pleasing) by lunchtime, so by way of a treat, we went to the Fish Quay and popped into a pub/restaurant for potted crab salad - delicious! Herself is having an Siesta, so I am typing quietly.
Soo xx
We still appear to be running on yesterday’s, so here’s a shiny new yardaaarm!
to do with as Cellarites see fit.
I have a black and white oaf doing acrobatics in the hall < sigh >
Reciprocal Gusly acrobatics are not occuring, the Gusly back being in pernickety mode today.
< another sigh, happy this time > Put the absolute fear of g*d into a bunch of workmates when an Australian temp was encouraging them to do handsprings (hmm, wonder what his motivation could have been?) and some kind of body memory kicked in and I did a forward somersault at him. Followed by a celebratory cartwheel round the room. Yup, this lunacy took place in the upstairs room of an until-then-respectable pub. I was quite as surprised as anyone else, if not more so, and needed Strong Drink to regain me equilibriumbiumbium. So did the Aussie.
No, feline. Patchfaced Oaf (PFO) from two doors up, actual name Miki. I look after him when his people are away, and he camps out hopefully (and successfully, as I usually crumble and feed the wee git) on my doorstep most days anyway. And he follows me up the road, lurks in the bit of grass at the top, ambushes me as I return from the shop and sort of tacks down the pavement in front of me, pausing occasionally to tell me the tale… he’s a clown, but a loveable one.
