Over the winter months I always have a good view of my garden. I like to perform a few perimeter checks on foot during the day, but for most of the time a quick glance out of the patio door suffices. In recent weeks however, I have found my view obscured by clothes. I have no idea why people insist on hanging their clothes up in the garden during the summer and can only assume they are displaying them for the neighbours. The neighbours may well appreciate it, but I do not. I have no interest at all in ladies unmentionables flapping about in my line of vision.
Think you’re waterproof? We’ll see.
Not only am I subjected to ladies unmentionables, I now also have to suffer the presence of a large plastic contraption in my garden. The Fairy seems very pleased with it, but I am outraged. When the wind blows, it makes noise. That’s right people – The Fairy has brought a noise-making item into my garden. She spent all yesterday messing about with pots and soil and the watering can. Chicken helped, and the pair of them had a fabulous time.
Who grows soil nowadays?
I remain suspicious, however. The Fairy says it is waterproof but that makes no sense at all. Why would she want something that prevents me watering the plants? Surely she must recognise this as a design fault. I intend to assess its waterproofing credentials later, as I would hate to have anything in my unit which does not comply with current Trading Standards regulations.
Tomatoes are my specialty.
It also concerned me that she hadn’t applied for planning permission from the Council. I’m in the process of locating the home phone number of Bob from the Council.
I know it’s Sunday, and a Bank Holiday weekend to boot, but I do believe he has a civic duty and will not mind at all if I ring him at dinner time with a legitimate enquiry.
I often feel that the word remarkable is overused. As a case in point, I would draw your attention to my previous statement when I referred to my recovery from a serious foot infection as remarkable. It turned out to be anything but. In fact, the recovery was noticeable by its absence. I remained on antibiotics for 21 days, until another infection (located in a rather delicate area of my anatomy which shall remain anonymous) kindly took up the gauntlet and ran with it, necessitating a different set of tablets. Woe is me. I do not like to complain as you know, but I have requested an official enquiry.
The Chicken And The Toad
Chicken has been extra kind to me during this time, and has greatly reduced the amount of noise she makes. She is still twittering on about her ghost cat and seems to be making new acquaintances on her evening walks. So far she has mentioned a German Shepherd puppy, an Akita puppy, a Pug, a Jack Russell and a toad. None of whom she likes.
Due to my confinement, I missed the opportunity to put myself forward for the Home Secretary vacancy which became available last week. I am always at home and I could very easily acquire a secretary, so feel I would have been the ideal candidate. Chicken said she would rather enjoy being my secretary, which would make her the Secretary’s secretary. We have put our plans on hold for the time being but remain hopeful, as it is not beyond the realms of possibility that the position become available again quite quickly. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about British politics, it’s that you cannot afford to blink.
Tomorrow I am overseeing some work in the garden which may involve the use of seeds. I am on standby to do any watering that may be required.