Damp

So let's talk about the weather, shall we? It's, what, August now? When did we last have more than 4 consecutive hours of fine weather? Late June, was it? Come on...sort it out, weather gods.

Having said that, yesterday was reasonably dry in the morning, so we were able to get out in the garden. To be fair, we are always able to get out in the garden, it's not like the back door is bricked up or anything. We choose not to use it, much of the time, and prefer to spend our time gazing mournfully through the rain-spattered windows, making tea and bitching about the weather.

Well, we are British, after all.

But Sunday. Gardening. Yes.

The back hedge desperately needed cutting. It was looking like one of those gap year students who spends 3 months hitching round Australia and never quite masters hair management...all weird spikes and bulges and long floppity bits. Between the two of us, using the hedge trimmer, the stepladder and two extension cables we managed to get the majority of the hedge sorted. Sadly, however, there is one corner that was justout of reach, and remains defiantly sticky-uppy. We'll have to ask if we can get at if from next door's garden, if it stops raining for long enough.

Once the fun bit was over, the slash and burn element, we had the boring tiresome tidying up to do. This was enlivened by Mr WithaY dragging a huge tarpaulin out of the garage and laying it on the lawn, rather like someone about to do an impressive magic trick involving Folding.

Then the pair of us, using shovels and rakes and other implements of destruction*, dragged all the hedge cuttings onto it. We rolled the tarpaulin up like a giant swiss roll, and took turns laying on it to squash the cuttings down.

Eventually it was a manageable size, and Mr WithaY deployed his trusty para cord to tie it all together. I couldn't decide if it looked like the corpse of an elephant seal being taken for discreet disposal, or the world's worst Christmas gift ever.

We lugged it to the tip and dumped it, pretending we were Mafia hitmen.

A speedy trip to Homebase after that, where we bought a gazebo tent thing for when we have people over and it rains, as it has done every weekend for about 2 months. While we were there, I got some funky solar lights on sticks to put in the flower beds, and a set of fairy-type lights on a net to put in a tree or in the gazebo tent thing, also solar powered.

Every moth in Wiltshire will turn up, I'm sure.



*Thanks Arlo

...if you want to rock and roll

Did it. Sang with the band. Just one song, not especially brilliant, but not dreadful either.

Hurrah for me.

Next time (assuming they let me do it again) I will play guitar as well, and see how that goes.

Mr WithaY came along to offer moral support, which was great. A few of our neighbours were there as well, so it was nice to know there were some friendly faces in the audience.

Mind you, I did get the impression that everyone who was there knew the band in one way or another - parents, workmates, friends, fellow guitar pupils. So it was always pretty unlikely that the chickenwire stage* protector would have been needed.

Their lead singer is superb. He's very young, like still at school young, but has a voice and a half on him. And real stage presence too. I like to imagine that in years to come when he is headlining at Wembley I can say "Oh yes, I sang with him when he was just starting out."

Heh.

Other news: Work is still hectic, and looks set to continue that way, but at least I have some more people in the team now.

Mr WithaY and I are on an "Eat less, you greedy fat bastards" diet, which is working. We are now using portion control when we cook, rather than just using huge quantities of everything, and both of us agree that we are not hungry, and are probably eating about 2/3 of the amounts we were.

I need to be very strict about getting out of the office in time to get to the gym after work though. I get hooked up in late meetings, so by the time I get away it's 6pm and the last thing I feel like doing is waddling and wheezing on the cross trainer for 30 minutes.

Excuses, excuses. One day at a time.

Ooh yes - the rooks are back. Within about 2 hours of Mr WithaY filling all the bird feeders in the garden we were inundated with many, many birds, which is excellent. And shortly after that, a gang of rooks turned up and sauntered about under the apple tree, eyeing up the fat block**. And the next time I looked out, the fat block had gone.

Whilst buying bird food in the pet shop, Mr WithaY had a chat with the pet requisite vendor. Apparently another customer had asked him "Why would anyone buy food for birds they don't own?"

I can't imagine what kind of mindset you would need to ask that question. It's like saying "Why would anyone smile at people they don't know?" or "Why would anyone take part in any kind of voluntary work?"

Left us all rather bemused.


*Front of pub alcove

**Block of fat, in a little metal cage thingy. In case you were wondering.