Wet Sunday

Well this is my first attempt at a blog and I have no idea what I'm doing or indeed why I'm doing it.

I have spent the morning gardening - that is, pulling up the weeds and looking at the wild-life in my tiny garden going about their business

Why I wonder would this interest you out there - or indeed is there anyone out there?????

But for the hell of it I'm going to try.

Snails. Do I need to say more to gardening people. Goodness me I have only just grown out of night-clubs and here I am on snail watch every morning and evening. See a one of them and it is get the Army in..............and when you find two together doing goodness knows what - or even finding the wherewithall of their two together - it's bring on the SAS - that is "Serious About Snails" or Saxa salt works OK.

From small beginnings of the instant garden just to keep the neighbours happy I have grown recently to actually enjoying pootling about in this little part of England I can call mine. I suppose it is the mother instinct in me now that the kids have grown and moved on that I get so much satisfaction seeing a seed grow to a fully fledged article and then picking it, boiling it for twenty of our earth minutes (best advert ever!!!) and smashing it to death before consuming it!! What more can I ask.

So here I am on this wet Sunday - delighted like some demented old crone that the water is falling on my prized garden and yet wondering what to do with my time and why the pleut from the sky couldn't have waited until bed-time

That is why I was born in England - perverse, complaining, and yet somehow happy with my lot. Made in England seems to epitomise that - and then there's the story of my son buying the house next door - but that's for a different blog.....