God, I only did a bit of gardening...

Lemon Daisy Cake I made yesterday

....Being an interior designer, i.e. playing around with drawing room knick-knacks I thought I'd do some exterior designing. So with flask in hand and transistor radio on the windowsill I dug a little more...
But I was never alone for long...
Brian my non-stop workaholic neighbour popped along.
" Ha ha" said he "You're doing well there Angela"
Please go away I thought I don't want an audience it's bad enough being watched by the Kevin the cat, how he balances on those sloping tiles over the way beats me. But anyway, Bustling Brian had his little joke and limped back indoors.

Meanwhile I listened to the afternoon play on R4, I didn't get all of it on account of being out of earshot most of the time and up to my knees in dirt. But I was feeling ok and that was the whole point of venturing outside, I'm not an natural outside kind of gal but I've been told that doing some green is great for combating the blues. True.

After about 30 mins the trench thing was looking more and more like a trench, and mounds of earth mixed with twigs and stones and shreds of grass added to the authenticity of being an amateur gardener.
I was enjoying myself.
But there's a flip side to that coin, my hands especially my right hand was beginning to blister, the two pairs of gardening gloves not protecting me at all. I studied my right hand in the fading light and felt really rather proud. Here was I, quite middle-aged and almost round the twist, digging for all my worth. Digging not only for daffs but for my sanity.

The play ended and lo and behold the next programme was....Gardener's Question Time. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I've never ever listened to it on account of fearing I'd turn into a rich skeleton who goes on cruises, but I needn't have worried, it was entertaining and funny in a boringly smug kinds way.

Then I heard heavy footsteps...it was the 30 something daughter of 70 something Brian, she had cake in hand and was now leaving ma and pa. She opened her car door.
"Hi ya" she Essexed.
Big London smile from me.
"Rather be jumping into my old jalopy than poking bulbs" I twittered
Laugh? The poor girl nearly choked on her muffin.

One two three four and more bulbs went in all carefully spaced to begin with, then as with all my fab ideas, it tailed off into mayhem:) I suddenly stopped mid poke...Tulips I thought, they'd look sweet and red roundabouts here. So ripping over another bag I pulled out the beautifully burnished coppery bulbs and buried them alive.
I was so empathetic with their plight. Gracious stunners laid low till the sun shines again...

By now the coffee had gone and a good job too, I looked like a harlot leaning spent against the red cracked windowsill.