Ella, Daniel Craig and my limp wrists...

Just popped in from the garden for a 10p noodle break.

Feeling like the pits I decided, after watching the early morning news, to go outside and dig. And what joy it turned out to be.

Dressed like an English country lady on acid, I stood firm on my front lawn, then attacked.
First to receive treatment were the minuscule leftovers of Graham's magnificent choppings, so with bent back I gathered....

Then as the muddy turf became clearer I thought about beds. Raised ones at that. So being 8st and without fear or sense I dug, with a small handy shovel no longer than a foot, a trench like thing from the pillar to the middle of the wall.

On my journey along the wall I discovered a cemetery of snails, slippery worms in darkest reds and tiny vicious weeds in every shade of green. So out came the dazzling weeds, but left to slumber to dust, the empty snail shells, the worms tutted at being dislodged from their mucky moist habitat, but much respect to them for soldiering on, despite one or two being sliced in half.
I apologised saying it hurt me almost as much as it hurt them.

Then suddenly out of the greyness of a quiet road came Ella the Jack Russell. She stretched her poor mother's arms to such an extent that Mrs Old Lady broke the silence with "Oh she's very friendly..." Ten minutes and a few cuddles and rubs later Ella, the rescue dog and Mrs Old lady skated on, probably round the block and up the road to the post office.
I felt utterly countrified. And utterly mortified that an artist like me can be mistaken for an ordinary person who does gardening and tickles dogs bellies.

They went. And I needed and wanted to carry on. So carry on I did.



A rough wind made me look even worse than when I started, my silly children's wellington boots poking out from under my long brown flowered skirt and a stained pink gilet hiding a stained grey jumper. Very chic and defo not the ensemble to meet a Daniel Craig lookey likey.

He, that's DC, roared to a stop and leapt like a super hero from his white van...Towering above me he said. "Got something for you".
I bit my tongue, I was not in the mood for double entendres especially looking so bloody ghastly so I smiled and said "Oh yes"

He whizzed open his side door and picked up a really heavy looking box saying "I'll need you to sign for it"

Battery. It was the battery Mr H. ordered. I know nothing about batteries all I do know is that he left it on the doorstep by the white ceramic cat and wanted my signature.
I dashed orf something unreadable and he went. But not without a tooty hooty.

By now I was almost panting so I dug a bit more, picked up a bit more and told the earth "I'll be back later"...

Now is later....
P.S. As I'm taking this gardening very seriously I shall take a flask of coffee outside with me.