Monday, 17 November 2008

Lesson number one

Read the F.....g manual...

I knew I would be cringing from my attempts to blog before the week was out.

Lesson one... double check the heading relates to the content, regardless of interuptions.

This is the disclaimer, reference and justification to the reluctant gardener inference.

Continued from Saturday.
Having spent a delightful Saturday breakfast of home made croissants and blackcurrant conserve with James, my writing soulmate and good friend, I returned homeward to deal with the minefield of wild poo that had appeared on my lawn with increasing volume over the week. My life couldn't be more polarised within a day if I tried.  Well someone had to clear it all up, so armed with marigolds, basic implements and wearing flip flops, I waded into the lawn to pick my way through the offending piles of evidence, which proves that at night my lawn turns into a central meeting place of tawdry animal latrines only upstaged by those highly reported in the LA times.

Now before you all question why flipflops, I work on the principle that my hardened festival trekking daughter, who has 'done' them all (festivals that is) knows it all... but don't tell her I said that. She insists that flip flops mean all you have to do is flip off your flops and hose down your feet.  Jo has walked past mud people writhing on the filthy floor in abject pain without anaesthesia, whilst a chain of equally mud covered individuals attempt to remove an inverted suctioned wellie with a vice like grip sporting the strength of a clam, in the hope that some kind soul will return the favour.  So flip flops it was....

Hence, tying in with the heading of my previous post 'The reluctant weekend gardener'.  No reclining for me with feet up, chocolates open, reading a birthday present treat by my body double Dawn French and her 'Dear Fatty' but a down to earth reminder I now know why women marry... so they can send their licenced goods forth with bucket and spade; or if you've had a blast of an argument, minus the marigolds AND the spade...

Explanation  over...  note to self... in future don't serialise, get it right first time... and consider finding husband before next autumn.

2 comments:

Kristen In London said...

Oh, I speed-read "Dear Fatty' in a bookstore and LOVED it. What did you think? Your flip flop story had me in laughter but also amazement at your daughter's experiences...

Foxi Rosie said...

Whilst I find DF suprisingly basic in her use of syntax I must admit I am enjoying it. She is in control, only allowing us to see what she wants us to, but her letter to her father and her outpouring of anger I'm sure will hit more than a note or two with many.

Because I tend to read a lot around bedtime, I enjoyed the pictures and the large print as much as anything... either because it is not too taxing or possibly because I have only just progressed from comics!

As Jo was a radio presenter and also worked for a production company, she used to go around to all the festivals and high profile events interviewing bands and performers. She also built staging and rigging for them too and hanging upsidedown like a circus performer moving lighting into place... now she tells me. I've washed more mud off her clothing and car than ten rugby pitches filled with the entire rugby league... Now there's a thought.