To make way for Bertie the camper van Mr Horsehound and my good self relieved a patch of garden of overgrown shrubs.
It now looks spacious and welcoming.
Plenty of room for the 1972 classic home-from-home vehicle and all done in a morning.
It's wonderful what can be achieved with the right attitude and little elbow grease.
Mum is causing my heart to skip a few beats, having been off her food and not getting into a Bette Davis film this afternoon. She insisted I watch it to its weepy sentimental climax but I couldn't, her vomiting and damp skin making it impossible. So I made her comfortable and dazed my way into the kitchen to make a Summer Pudding.
Another sign of fear is my change of lipsticks... my lips ditching Rose Pink in favour of Crimson.
Which reminds me, Mr Horsehound asked what he was to do with the pink roses by the front door. Cut them down, I said showing not a shred of sentimentality towards the delicate fading blooms. One simply can't be ruled by one's heart. Much.
I'd better get going now dinner needs to be served, Mr H and myself having Nasi Goreng, mother, God bless her and keep her, is having nought.
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