Gardening is brilliant. It provides exercise in the fresh air and sunshine and leaves you with a glow of satisfaction of a job well done. That is until you turn on the hose you haven’t used since last year. For some reason a split has appeared in the nozzle and cold water sprayed all over me rather than the garden. I now look as if I’ve wet myself and I do have to say that a wet t-shirt on someone a tad over, shall we say, 21 really isn’t the sort of picture I need to show anyone.
To add insult to injury the cold wet leg of my trousers upset the arthritis in my knee and it gave way leaving me stuck for a moment or two.
I did manage to plant out the magic beans as well as some peas and cauliflowers. I also cleared the path down the side of the labyrinth so it looks much tidier and I feel happier.
I had planned to use the time to think about a story I’m working on. (Translation of ‘working’ – thinking about.) Instead I became discouraged by the amount of work there is to do in the garden. So, I gave up and came inside to write. It may not be any easier but it’s certainly a lot drier.
Try one of these for size. http://www.coronabooks.com
