Despatches from SW14
What ho, chaps! Summer, I can now report, is definitely icumen in: the first Pimms of 2010 has been spotted at Fangirl Towers. Naturally, being England, this will be the brief eye in the drizzly, grey-skied really-not-even-one-interesting-storm that is the British summer, but tant pis. For now, I will enjoy the (mild) sunshine. Actually, for the past couple of days, I have been enjoying it OUTSIDE. Yes, visitors to Fangirl Towers may not have noticed that we have balcony (unless you're Kathye and have used as a prime smoking location), as we never remember it ourselves. However, the balcony door has been open recently, and - STAND BACK, PLEASE - there have been some idle attempts at GARDENING. Yes, you did hear me aright. Actual gardening, with compost and, I'm not too proud to admit, various purchases from Poundland. (Fucking Poundland, I love you.)
So, over the weekend I planted rosemary, thyme, sage and mint (the mint in a separate pot, natch), and today I planted some fresia bulbs (I love fresias) and a gooseberry bush (in a pot that is possibly a touch too small, but we will see). In the coming months, I will be doing strawberry plants into our hanging basket (slightly limp and aged, but I am confident it is up to the ask), although I don't have particularly high hopes of them actually providing any fruit, and a tomato plant into the big tub thing my parents bought us for daffodils.
All these things are very likely to die.
I don't want anyone to be under any illusions. No tears when the news comes that the gooseberries died about six months ago and we didn't notice. No wails of despair when I excitedly announce that the cracked earth in the plastic pot once appeared to home some sort of plant, its desiccated leaves now giving no clue as to its identity. Please face the truth now, and accept it into your life: this attempt at bringing joy and happiness to our balcony is doomed to epic failure.
Speaking of death, funeral went as well as these things do. My father did the eulogy, and jolly well he did it too. Not easy, given his slightly rocky relationship with Grandpa, but I think he did them both justice and I was very proud of him. Nice to see the old family again, albeit fleetingly. Thankfully, the next family shindig should be Chris' wedding next year, which should be somewhat cheerier.
The prog man has decided on early retirement. Calloo callay etc.
I cleaned the windows in my room and the spare room (they look out onto the balcony). Ruined three dishcloths in the process, though will attempt to return them to some semblance of white with some Vanish. The windows, I suspect HAVE NEVER BEEN WASHED BEFORE. They were filthy, and are still a bit streaky due to me not getting around to rinsing them, but good grief, one can actually see through them. A miracle.
A thought: I do not think a hung parliament will lead to the apocalypse. Just my two penn'orth.
I am re-reading Eva Ibbotson's Magic Flutes. I love her books.
So, over the weekend I planted rosemary, thyme, sage and mint (the mint in a separate pot, natch), and today I planted some fresia bulbs (I love fresias) and a gooseberry bush (in a pot that is possibly a touch too small, but we will see). In the coming months, I will be doing strawberry plants into our hanging basket (slightly limp and aged, but I am confident it is up to the ask), although I don't have particularly high hopes of them actually providing any fruit, and a tomato plant into the big tub thing my parents bought us for daffodils.
All these things are very likely to die.
I don't want anyone to be under any illusions. No tears when the news comes that the gooseberries died about six months ago and we didn't notice. No wails of despair when I excitedly announce that the cracked earth in the plastic pot once appeared to home some sort of plant, its desiccated leaves now giving no clue as to its identity. Please face the truth now, and accept it into your life: this attempt at bringing joy and happiness to our balcony is doomed to epic failure.
Speaking of death, funeral went as well as these things do. My father did the eulogy, and jolly well he did it too. Not easy, given his slightly rocky relationship with Grandpa, but I think he did them both justice and I was very proud of him. Nice to see the old family again, albeit fleetingly. Thankfully, the next family shindig should be Chris' wedding next year, which should be somewhat cheerier.
The prog man has decided on early retirement. Calloo callay etc.
I cleaned the windows in my room and the spare room (they look out onto the balcony). Ruined three dishcloths in the process, though will attempt to return them to some semblance of white with some Vanish. The windows, I suspect HAVE NEVER BEEN WASHED BEFORE. They were filthy, and are still a bit streaky due to me not getting around to rinsing them, but good grief, one can actually see through them. A miracle.
A thought: I do not think a hung parliament will lead to the apocalypse. Just my two penn'orth.
I am re-reading Eva Ibbotson's Magic Flutes. I love her books.