Random on a roll

Ow, everything very stiff this morning. Rolled out of bed, put the coffee on and pulled the patio curtains back to admire my hedge work. Aaaaah... makes every single sore muscle worthwhile.


After a Sunday pancake breakfast, back outside. Today, I'm going to fill one of the planters. I remembered an ancient wadge of pond liner kept at the back of the summerhouse. This stuff is practically indestructible so won't have decomposed but sure enough, it is full of spiders and woodlice and pretty disgusting just to drag out of the dank, wet pile of old leaves down the back of the shed.

OH takes the hint and tells me he's off to the garden centre to buy compost. I cut some liner to size, shake the last reluctant woodlice off, to the delight of the Kropotkins, and drag the pond liner out to the front, along with the staplegun. OH has done a fab job putting the second planter together. I line them both. Then OH returns with over 700 litres of compost stuffed in the boot. Our street is filling up with neighbours returning from lunch or seeing off departing guests or handing no-longer-needed garden plants over to happy freecycle recipients. Almost everyone comments on the planters and wants to know what will go in them. Everyone seems to assume it will be edibles -- strawberries are the most popular. "I actually want flowers in there," I protest, meekly, "and that tree that smells of toffee in autumn".

OH had kindly repaired the wheelbarrow yesterday, which had a flat, so that we can use it again after almost a year. We've got a mound of topsoil where the second Holzleg is going to go so I'm using that. There is still a thin film of ice on the pond, which is shaded, and the soil I dig is cold and claggy. And it's already fully veined with ground elder roots. I'm spending ages getting them out.

The first planter swallows 2 wheelbarrow loads of topsoil and 500 litres of compost.

Time for a late lunch. Then back outside again. Next door's jasmine has gone completely jungly and its tendrils have crept triffid-like across the extension roof towards the first-floor window. It's got to be cut back. OH took the old greenhouse down over the Easter weekend because its supports were rotting and thanks to him we've now regained a big space on the patio. If it wasn't for the jasmine hanging over everything like a giant tumbleweed. The jasmine must go. The ladder comes back out of the shed and goes up against the wall. The jasmine is a worthy opponent -- it's not going without a fight, and it nearly tricks me into accidentally severing the satellite lead.

Finally, the thing is down. So much light all of a sudden! It opens up a whole new vision of patio design possibilities, working with that elusive star, the sun. It also reveals quite how much the patio windows need cleaning. Oops.

So that's my next assignment for the day, cleaning the patio window. Where's the window cleaning fluid? I initially shout this at OH, and that usually works whenever I've mislaid my keys. He somehow always knows where stuff is, probably because he's RFIDed everything. He even finds my leggings, which had me once accuse him of wearing them in secret. We had gallons of window cleaning fluid standing on window sills and in cupboards all over the house pretending to be all manner of things: antibacterial wipe, bleach, bathroom cleaner, room freshener. Whenever I was looking for any of these on that list, what would I invariably find? A blessed spray bottle of window cleaner. Now I actually need window cleaner and there's none.Warm water with washing-up liquid it'll have to be then. After another hour and several more scraped knuckles from wiping the white door frames right next to the raw brickwork, that job is also done.

Next up the kitchen surfaces, the colour of which I'd almost forgotten. I subject the stainless steel kitchen sink to a merciless scrub with washing powder. Noticed that the white tile paint is peeling off. The former clown-coloured tiles are shining through. I'm tempted to whip out the tile paint tin and slap that right on, drag OH to the DIY shed and buy a decent-looking worktop and start renovating the kitchen. Then I realise it's 7pm on a Sunday and time to wrap things up for the day.

Feel very pleased with my output regardless and sink into the sofa with a bowl of OH's yummy risotto. At 10pm I get an email from my friend down the road. She needs some help in the garden -- do I want to come over this week? Um. Hm. So soon? I'll have to sleep on that.