Operation TLC started on Sunday.
Now that we’ve decided that we aren’t moving house (not that we had a choice in the matter, thanks housing market crash) we, or more truthfully, I, decided that since we have all but neglected the place for the last three years we were going to get a few jobs done.
Boofuls as normal just sighed and tried to get out of it by going for his usual fail safe plan of: “I’ll strim the chicken pen.”
Let’s just say that that plan was knocked back as I had other ideas.
Every job I suggested to him he decided that he’d need some kind of power tool to complete it. What is it with men and power tools?
We eventually decided that we’d dismantle the walkway he built down between the stables when we first moved in. Having served it’s purpose well it had started to rot and was becoming more of a liability than the one it was built to avoid.
” I’ll get my chainsaw.” He said.
While he was getting his chainsaw I ripped it apart with my bare hands, it was so rotten. Ten minutes later it was all piled up on the drive waiting to be taken to the recycling centre along with the ‘well past it’s usability date’ garden furniture.
Isn’t it cathartic having a good old clear out? I love it.
Next up, extreme gardening.
It was starting to look a bit like a rain forest at the bottom of the garden, thick, lush vegetation and huge bushes which were being completely taken over by the ivy and honeysuckle.
“I’ll get my chainsaw,” Said Boofuls.
Even the chainsaw gave up the ghost after a few minutes. That left us with a pair of tree clippers. They honeysuckle had wound it’s way through the fence, the roots pushing away at the wall. We clipped, trimmed, pruned and tidied, the pile of branches and creepers on the ground getting bigger and bigger.
As I was moving away yet more branches I heard a ‘WHUMPH’. The wall fell down, it had obviously only been held up by the branches twined through the wire. Boofuls was lucky not to have two huge great blocks of concrete fall on his foot.
Those eagle eyed and familiar enough with the place will of course recognise that we are in fact in the chicken pen.
How did we end up in there anyway? BOOFULS!!!!
Shortly after that we ran out of steam and enthusiasm so we went in and slumped in front of the telly for the evening. Dance practice went right out of the window because we were both to stiff to move. Ah, the joys of extreme gardening.
Lashes and me went into Bigtown yesterday to gather a few props together for a photo shoot we’re planning. As usual, time ran away with us so she ran into a sandwich shop for a quick lunch for Munki before nursery.
“Ham sandwich, please, no salad.”
Running back out of the shop with a face like thunder two minutes later she complained bitterly about having to pay £2.45 for a plain ham sandwich. Opening the bag her iritation turned to fury as she was greeted by the sight of half a sandwich consisting of one slice of toastie bread cut in half, a wafer thin slice of ham and a whole garden’s worth of foliage that she’d clearly said she didn’t want.
Oh dear. Stand back.
Wordlessly she turned on her heel and marched straight back into the shop. Me and Munki watched with interest as Lashes thrust the half a sandwich back at the assistant who’d served her. Money was returned and peace was restored.
Crikey, I don’t know where she gets this assertiveness from. I’d have just moaned like hell and slunk away, furious at the shop and at my wimpiness for not complaining.
Good on you, Lashes.