Sunday 13th May 2018
Dear Diary,
Here we are in May already. May! Flaming May, a stone’s throw from flaming June! The year is galloping towards the half way mark. Bloody hell, where does time go? Actually, I’m not sure time goes anywhere, or if it exists at all. It’s an artificial construct in the same way as morality - a device invented by a few to control the many, and that’s as much as I’m going to say on the subject, mainly because I don’t know what the fuck I’m on about.
The men folk are off sailing the high seas with Leo and Mike today, if you can call a dam the high seas. I could have gone, but I opted to stay home and sulk. I have never taken to the notion of floating about on boats. I’m a landlubber through and through. I’m on dinner duty ready to serve a hearty meal when the wind blows the seafarers home again. I’m well ahead on the prep front. The veggies are peeled and poised, the beef is roasted and the Yorkshire pudd batter is beaten to a silky smooth texture. Mind you, things aren’t looking so good on the gravy front. I used too much corn flour so it’s thick enough to be used as safety matting. I shudder to think what would happen if Mary Berry dropped in to inspect me in her capacity as honorary chancellor of the Houseboys Guild. I’d lose a housekeeping pip and be relegated to the bottom of the gravy league. I’ll have to make a fresh batch or Leo, the gravy maestro, will gloat, forcing me to slug him with a meat cleaver. Thank God for stock cubes.
It’s been a busy few weeks with one thing and another, including garden work, which I’ve been managing alone. ZZ, our garden handyman, has zoomed off to Scotland to spend some time with his son and daughter in law. They’ve just had their first baby, a boy, making ZZ a grandfather. I never thought I’d say it, but I miss him. I’ve got used to him. We get along, most of the time, and he’s handy to wind up when Leo isn’t around.
Writing wise, I’ve completed another portion of Revelations, but still, its slow progress. Some days I don’t want to think about the past let alone write about it. I considered posting the latest section on site, but I’m not sure it’s the thing to do. Dangling chunks of a book that might never be completed maybe isn’t the way to go and maybe it’s just another form of procrastination? I need to get my head down and keep at it until it’s done in its entirety.
I’m toddling off now. I bought a ton of bedding plants yesterday and I want to start planting out, that’s if I can manage to ignore the ZZ voice in my head telling me it’s too early for summer bedding and they’ll only fall victim to late spring frosts. He’s such a doomsayer.
Dear Diary,
Here we are in May already. May! Flaming May, a stone’s throw from flaming June! The year is galloping towards the half way mark. Bloody hell, where does time go? Actually, I’m not sure time goes anywhere, or if it exists at all. It’s an artificial construct in the same way as morality - a device invented by a few to control the many, and that’s as much as I’m going to say on the subject, mainly because I don’t know what the fuck I’m on about.
The men folk are off sailing the high seas with Leo and Mike today, if you can call a dam the high seas. I could have gone, but I opted to stay home and sulk. I have never taken to the notion of floating about on boats. I’m a landlubber through and through. I’m on dinner duty ready to serve a hearty meal when the wind blows the seafarers home again. I’m well ahead on the prep front. The veggies are peeled and poised, the beef is roasted and the Yorkshire pudd batter is beaten to a silky smooth texture. Mind you, things aren’t looking so good on the gravy front. I used too much corn flour so it’s thick enough to be used as safety matting. I shudder to think what would happen if Mary Berry dropped in to inspect me in her capacity as honorary chancellor of the Houseboys Guild. I’d lose a housekeeping pip and be relegated to the bottom of the gravy league. I’ll have to make a fresh batch or Leo, the gravy maestro, will gloat, forcing me to slug him with a meat cleaver. Thank God for stock cubes.
It’s been a busy few weeks with one thing and another, including garden work, which I’ve been managing alone. ZZ, our garden handyman, has zoomed off to Scotland to spend some time with his son and daughter in law. They’ve just had their first baby, a boy, making ZZ a grandfather. I never thought I’d say it, but I miss him. I’ve got used to him. We get along, most of the time, and he’s handy to wind up when Leo isn’t around.
Writing wise, I’ve completed another portion of Revelations, but still, its slow progress. Some days I don’t want to think about the past let alone write about it. I considered posting the latest section on site, but I’m not sure it’s the thing to do. Dangling chunks of a book that might never be completed maybe isn’t the way to go and maybe it’s just another form of procrastination? I need to get my head down and keep at it until it’s done in its entirety.
I’m toddling off now. I bought a ton of bedding plants yesterday and I want to start planting out, that’s if I can manage to ignore the ZZ voice in my head telling me it’s too early for summer bedding and they’ll only fall victim to late spring frosts. He’s such a doomsayer.
I hope all is sunny and well in your personal universes. Ciao for now.