… when I wasn’t alone in the garden. For two days now in succession, just as the evening starts to draw on, some of Strawberry Moose‘s girl friends come to join us.
I have to keep on reminding His Nibs that the word is “stag” – spelt S-T-A-G. The second letter is not an “H”.
During the night I was at a boarding school somewhere in the north of the UK. All the kids were piling onto a bus to go somewhere.
“They will all be sold into slavery” I said to Michael the former Pionsat goalkeeper who had to give up about three yers ago when he broke his shoulder (and I’ve no idea what he was doing here). “It’s the white slave trade”.
“No it isn’t” replied Michael. “It’s a proven fact that driving around like this helps people relax and it will prepare the kids for their exams”.
“Ohh no” I replied. “I’m far too cynical for that. It’s the white slave trade”.
So after another early start and a good three hours on the web site, I went outside and after a really good day in the garden I’ve cleared and prepared another two raised beds. That’s 9 done out of the 12, and then there’s the mega-cloche and then the fruit bed to clear. And if I find the time, I want to dig another bed.
But one of the raised beds has disintegrated – or, rather, the boarding around the edge has. And there are a few others that look rather shaky. But I remembered that I have piles of those thin lightweight red bricks lying around. Now I know what to do with them.
