When the HELL did it become March already?
Finally, a nice tranquil day, where stuff gets done and everything! Touchwood. First stop: the Allittlement. For sudden massive panic! The trees are all gone. Really. I walked straight past my plot (and came creeping back to it very sheepishly because a) whoops, in front of all the workmen, too, and b) damn, it needs a tidy!)
The workmen had the cutest little caterpillar track thing, like a tank only twice the size of K9, that went up and down the path: the guy driving it was desperate to try and carry some of my stuff to the other end of the allotments for me, and I was desperate to as if he could carry me up the other end of the allotments in it, but I didn’t want him to think I was, you know, in possession of a mental age of ten. Instead, I got some digging done. But only some.
Now remember, the place was in worse nick this time last year when you took it on!
After being worn out by a pathetic amount of digging, I went home to sample the beer that’s been brewing these last few months, why not. I feel I have earned a cold one! Well, a warm one!
The beer is Off. Woe. Oh well, that’s the first time that’s happened and I think it’s Batch Number 5, it had to happen sooner or later. I washed it out and bleached it out and rinsed it out a lot (methinks last time, I did not do that part so well and it might have killed the yeast, ho hum, live and learn) and put on a batch of pear cider instead, which my new flatmate watched with considerable interest and told me I’m wonderful and have so many skills. Ah yes, this is how it starts. It ends rather more messily, of course, but right now we’re in the honeymoon period where we’re still making little batches of sweeties for each other and leaving them in the kitchen with little notes saying, Help Yourself. I could get into short-term lets the way some people get into short-term flings, I guess. You part ways before they decide they hate your guts, hurrah!
I rounded off the day by cooking a big veggie lasagne, had a big shower and came out to the smell and sound of half a bushel of tatties being fried and realised I have definitely missed having company round the place, in many ways. Then I realised I was too knackered from hours of hauling mud and vats of proto-booze to eat any of it. An early night before my reunion with the Grind, that’s the ticket! And since I drank diluting juice all night rather than attempting to anaesthetise myself, I will no doubt have the worst sleep ever.