I fetched my electric lawnmower back from Ronan last night, because the Sage’s sit-on mower didn’t work any more and I had my doubts if it would – at least, I’d get the lawns in check. And so I have, and I’m just a bit knackered. Ours took two hours, then I moved stuff ready for the skip, moved other stuff to burn, burned it, took the dog for … oh no, turned out the Sage hadn’t had lunch so I cooked him lunch … took the dog for a lovely run on the marshes, came home, lost track of time a bit, got the mower out again and mowed the bungalow lawn. Darlings, you don’t deserve the most boring picture of the year: that of the heap of lawn clippings, but I never pretended to be interesting.
Oh. Sorry. It’s so boring that even Blogger has rejected it. Three times.
Sooooo, I didn’t even leave a job for the garden fairies, but cleared away everything and then went for a bath, not forgetting to put a bottle of Cava to chill. Because I needed the pick-me-up of bubbles, but it was more grim satisfaction than celebration, so I saved the champagne for a gooder day. But the bath was nice, and I put on a face pack and everything. Including pyjamas in due course, so that when the Sage said he was going down to the pub and would I like to come, I said no, because I’d already opened said Cava and started cooking dinner and wasn’t actually dressed. I say cooking dinner, but I haven’t shopped for days and was reduced to an onion in the way of veggies, and half a cucumber, so it was spaghetti with tomato sauce and cheese and a cucumber salad.
And that was surprisingly entertaining, because the dog adores spaghetti and turns his head to one side to chomp it down. I just hope it isn’t returned in an inappropriate fashion.
No, I left half of the day out…but I’m too tired. Some other time, darlings. I’m flagging rapidly and it’s only half past eight.