Sunday, 26 August 2012

No News Day

Am I interested in nudie pictures of Prince Harry? Do I believe it is my right as a consumer and tax payer to see these pictures published in a gutter rag, as the owners of the gutter rag assert? No, I do not. Do I believe these pictures were published to sell more newspapers? Yes, I do. Call me Mrs Cynical, but that's what I believe.

On another, less cheeky front, Andy is making excellent headway in the front garden.  I went out yesterday to gather in some more lavender for drying and found him wielding a spade upon which was a great big wedge of front lawn.
' I thought you liked grass?' said I, a tad confused that he seemed to be relocating rather a lot of it into the green waste wheelie bin.
' I do,' said Andy. ' I am merely extending the border a little to make the lawn squarer.'
This, I thought, was an excellent idea, as the front lawn has always been a bit of an odd shape. The edges become blurred when the grass gets too long, and then the grass encroaches on the border and definition becomes even more blurred, and that is what happens when you let grass do its own thing. Grass will never do its own thing when there are chickens around, of course; chickens are excellent at grass control.

But we do not have chickens at the moment. We have Andy with a spade.

The new border has been planted up with nine lavenders and four thymes. It looks rather lovely, and has very definite edges. Not a blur in sight.

Which is more than can be said for my eyes. Went to get them tested last week. I was right - they are getting better with age, and my distance prescription needs to be weaker. No varifocals needed just
yet. I wonder if Tybalt needs glasses. He sometimes misses jumps, and sometimes bumps into doors, but that is generally when he is racing around in a wild frenzy plus, because he is getting middle age spread, his bottom overtakes his front when he puts on the brakes too quickly. Think overloaded lorry and you'll get the idea.

There isn't much else happening here at MMM, I'm afraid. All quiet on the western front.  Andy is doing a lot of cooking, which means I'm not, which is nice. Took Kayleigh to the park yesterday where I had a dizzy moment on a roundabout and nearly fell off. Did some blackberrying. Took her
to a cafe for cake where she chose a Belgian bun as big as her head , then promptly scoffed a wedge of my chocolate muffin. Andy ate his chocolate caramel shortbread unhindered, then stole some of 
Kayleigh's Belgian bun, thinking she wouldn't see him but she did and shrieked, 'Nooooooo! Mine!' 
in his ear. I was far more grown up about the theft of my muffin.

Doing lots of sewing at the moment because I have decided I want to be one of those ladies in 
magazines who make a business out of their hobby, and get photographed in their workroom amongst piles of fabric looking very happy, with a mug of tea and an order from Harrods for 10,000 artisan 
toy bunnies on their books at £29.99 a shot. Had a brilliant idea this morning which incorporated 
chickens, flowers and lavender, but was thwarted in development of aforesaid brilliant idea by complete inability to put onto paper the image that was in my head. So went and sulked over some 
cross- stitch instead, which was ironic, beings as I was feeling like a grumpus. Hoping that if I leave a pen and paper by the bed tonight, I might sleep-draw the image, and wake up to a pattern ready to use a la Elves and the Shoemaker.

Reading a novel at the moment about the adventures of a man who climbs out of his bedroom 
window on the day of his one hundredth birthday, and walks into an adventure. So far he has been 
inadvertently involved in a theft and three deaths, one by elephant. It's very Forrest Gump, only with 
a hint of Sweden. Most entertaining. Tried reading a book about thinking, but it made my head hurt, 
so I passed it on to Andy, because it will be like another Ulysses by James Joyce debacle and I'll still 
be trying to get past page 23 twenty five years from now.

The Bank Holiday rain has failed to materialise; still, there's always tomorrow. But tomorrow I shall 
be engrossed with a brilliant chicken idea so I don't care if it rains.

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