One man went to mow

D’you know, I think that the place will be quite presentable by the time of the Blog Party, at this rate.  Not that a degree of relaxed down-at-heelness has stopped us in the past.  I take it that my friends (including those of you whom I haven’t met yet) come to be convivial and not to raise an eyebrow at the weeds.

It’s Tim who’s remarkably wonderful, of course.  He had a peaceful life, doing what he wanted to do and his house and garden, which are lovely, had been made pretty easy to run.  And now, here, he’s fairly constantly busy.  And he enters into it all enthusiastically.  Today, Wince the gardener had trimmed a very nettle-choked area between the kitchen garden and the stream – a job that has been made easier because Stevo and his friend Esau had removed the fence – and it looks great, sloping to the bank of the stream with a view across the field to the plums in blossom beyond.  As we came back in, I said “it’s going to be lovely, when we’re done” and he reminded me “it already is lovely.”  And indeed, it always was.

Young Stevo somehow fell, the other day, on to some iron railings (not here, thank goodness) and has possibly broken his collarbone.  It may just be bad bruising, he was going back to the doctor today to have it checked.  I said, they will probably not do anything anyway, as long as it isn’t out of alignment, it’ll heal of its own accord.  He’s fed up, though, and in quite a lot of pain.  I said that once he feels able to, he can carry on with the painting of the barns with his left hand, until it’s better.

LT and I spent some time yesterday evening, discussing the menu for the party.  Good that I’m not the only one keen on food: not just the eating of it, nor even just the cooking, but as a subject to talk about.

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