I’m writing this rather late in the day, having been engaged for most of the evening in getting D2’s bedroom ready for my mother coming to stay. It was the usual mix of freshly laundered clothes and those worn clothes waiting to be washed, cleverly placed across the floor and bed so as to make it impossible to tell which is which. This invariably leads to clothes being needlessly washed. I did successfully reunite several socks with their partners, in some cases long lost partners, but some seem destined to spend the rest of their lives single. D2 has inherited my method of sorting out cupboards and drawers, which is essentially ‘tip everything out’ followed by ‘go and do something else’ with the plan to return and finish the sorting at some undetermined time in the future. The imminent arrival of my mother has triggered the default option ‘push everything back where it came from’. Job done.
Now to the title question. The fine weather on Saturday spurred me into taking action in the garden. Initially I felt I was having a productive afternoon clearing rubbish away and cutting the grass. (By the way, if anyone is wondering if a cheap rotary mower from Argos would be able to handle foot high grass and assorted weeds I can confirm that it can. In fact my trusty mower has performed this feat every year for the past four years.) I soon began to question the ‘progress’ I was making as hundreds of little creatures ran for cover as I ripped up pieces of floorboards that had once provided a makeshift roof for the guinea pig run but have for some time been laying on the ‘lawn’. I’ve no doubt I killed many animals in my pursuit of a tidy garden not to mention the thousands of plants that were destroyed. The wildlife sanctuary has gone and with it my enjoyment of making a tidier a garden.
A bit of advice that supports the proverb ‘more haste less speed’. Don’t grab your son’s deoderent off the bathroom shelf when you are in too much of a hurry to go to your bedroom and get your own. In your haste you may pick up his shaving foam instead! This actually happened to me on Friday morning and I’d shaken it ready to spray when just in time I realised it was the wrong can – the nozzle gave it away. I was tempted to go through with the act of spraying, knowing my misfortune would cause great hilarity amongst my blog readers but the thought of the resulting mess and time it would take to sort out stopped me. As compensation for not going through with it I will share the story of a Frodo mishap. It happened over ten years ago on the ferry to Holland. How funny is it when someone uses deepheat muscle rub instead of toothpaste? Very, very, very funny. Funny enough to leave a whole family helpless with laughter in fact.