There are days when I feel my age, just a bit, with somewhat gritty hips and grotty back. I do not say feeling "old" because old is not part of the Jones vocabulary in this context, nor does she encourage others to use it. "Old" is fine when referring to friends or describing treasured possessions. We merely age a little from time to time.
As you may imagine, my real challenge is not coping with the afflictions of covid-19 or age, it's what to put in the blog. I can tell you about the weather - it's been wet - but I can see you drifting off already.
CAR PORT TREATS ON A RAINY DAY
Or I can tell you about carport treats and wet ambles around the park on spiky-seed weed-covered paths -
BARBARA PIC
foliage glistening and trees dripping - but I think I can hear background snoring.
Of rather more interest, to us at least, is the hole that Barbara discovered in the side of our driveway. She wondered whether I'd asked Slavic to dig it for one of the numerous plants we're always, well, transplanting. I hadn't and he hadn't. It must be the work of an animal, presumably either a dog (the more likely suspect) or wild boar. Although the latter turn over the earth, we've never come across any of their holes.
THE GIRL I MARRIED
What I've spent most of the week doing - apart from taking lengthy siestas in my recliner and settling down to Netflix - is sorting out our many thousands of digital photographs.
SHE GREW UP
These cover several decades of holidays, visitors and occasions as well as episodes in our youth and the lives of a great many pets.
My wife has been making daily visits to our early-fruiting plum tree and returning with the bounty. Some of the fruit goes into our nightly salads. The other trees promise far less ample crops. We are still enjoying the plums she (and neighbour Sarah) stewed last year. (Keep up the good work, ladies!)
When she's not in the garden, Jones likes to do the washing or vacuum and mop the floors, a task that tends to interrupt my Netflix viewing - although the headphones drown out most of the noise. She prefers the window-blind up; it's been lowered to accommodate the TV.
The cats are not keen on the vacuuming either. Their preference is to observe proceedings from the safety of the stairs, with escape options both up and down.
unless there's a companionable rainy-day wood fire glowing in the stove.
When my lap isn't available, Mini makes herself comfortable on a cushion. (Mini is the only dog I've come across whose tail wags furiously in her sleep, presumably the indicator of a delightful dream. In Mini's case, it would be about food.)
DATURA: ANGELS' TRUMPETS
The rain has gone down well with the garden, which is gradually taking over the paths, the patios, the cobbles, the steps and our lives. The newly strimmed sections of field mock our efforts, springing up again as though they had merely ducked.
ANOTHER BARBARA PIC
Which brings me pretty much to the end of my story for the week, such as it is. The rain has blown over for the moment. The dogs are chaffing. It's going to be as muddy as Flanders. But mud comes off and duty calls. |
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