It has been a day off.
That is to say, it has been a day off in the sense that Mark went to work this afternoon. He did not especially want to do this, but the taxi rank is very slow at the moment, and the cash will come in very handy.
He made fifteen quid and learned from the daytime taxi drivers that trade is just as slow during the day as it is at night, Everybody thinks that it is in some way due to our leaving the EU, but nobody knows why. Some people think that it is because we are not staying, and some people think that it is because we are not going. I think it is probably because the pound is worth about quarter of a franc or a third of a Deutschmark, or a half of whatever Spanish money is, and so everything is more expensive in the shops which means that nobody has any cash to blow in taxis.
Certainly we bought a bottle of Spanish wine tonight and it cost us every single penny that we had managed to dig out from underneath the seats of both taxis. This might have been because we bought it in Sainsbury’s, which is not known for its low budget alcohol.
Having said that it was nice to collapse and drink too much. It is half past ten at the moment of writing these words, and we are more than halfway down the bottle. I would like to finish it, but I have got to go and get Oliver in the morning, and I know perfectly well that if I drink any more I will have a nasty headache.
We have spent today doing outside things, at least I have. Mark took some bits of the shed down and then rushed off to work. I meant to cut the lawn, but forgot. Instead I have repotted all of the hanging baskets and plant pots.
This does not sound like anything at all, I have said it in less than the time it takes to poke the soil out from underneath a fingernail, but it took ages. I scraped the soil out on to a large sheet of plastic, mixed it with compost and crushed seashells and lime to sweeten it a bit. Then I added some fish, blood and bone fertiliser, and some crystal stuff that turns into jelly and stops the soil from drying out. You have got to be careful with this. I used too much the other year and finished up with horrible slug-like lumps in the tops of the baskets that stuck to my fingers and squelched nastily.
I have repotted the things that I have grown so far, and planted some seeds, and added some bedding plants that I bought in Morrisons. My whole soul revolts at the idea of doing this, but I don’t have anywhere at all that I can grow little seeds at the moment. These will come with the greenhouse. I do not like bedding plants, but the garden is a dreadful dusty mess of cement dust and rubble at the moment, and I am desperate for colour.
I have got no idea at all what colour Morrisons bedding plants are, they are called stupid things like Vibrant Hush, so I expect they will clash terribly with one another. I will not mind this, because I can’t tell when colours clash, but if we have tasteful visitors they will wince in a pained manner as they walk up the garden. I will have to make Actual Head Boy’s father come in through the front door, not only does he have genteel good taste, he used to be Artist In Residence at Kew Gardens. He is far too polite to tell me that my garden is dreadful, I will just have to guess from his expression.
It was almost eight o’clock by the time I had finished, which was why we did not spend the evening at work as well. We cooked pasta and collapsed with relieved sighs in front of some episodes of A Game Of Thrones. This is an ace series, because it has gone on for so long that I have entirely forgotten what happened in the beginning, and so we have been able to watch the old ones again with as much interest as we did the first time. Also it is nice not to have the tension of wondering what happens next. I have never quite outgrown the childhood stage of liking the same bedtime story every night. Predictable is splendid.
Have a picture of a rose out of the front garden. It is the old fashioned sort that smells lovely. It is the first one to have opened this year.
