I'm mourning the loss of my beautiful sweet peas today. They were struck down during the wild storm we had here in St Ives last night. It didn't occur to me that the garden would be affected while I was exclaiming at the fork lightning lighting up the bay. But them and about a million palm leaves have to be attended to in a moment. The storm hasn't broke the humidity either, or else my personal thermostat has gone ballistic. I think the phrase is sweating cobs.
I thought I'd share some simple pared back happy things from my week. We truck on here. Taking life as it comes. Mostly.
Picking our own
In my fantasy life, the one where I live at Trevail Mill and spend my days in overalls and wellies wandering around my immaculate small holding, I am totally self sufficient. In my real life, the one where I struggle to get my head around having an allotment plot and quite often forget to water my tomatoes, I am amazed whenever I am able to pluck an edible form its' plant. Just some of the produce from this week. I have bounteous blueberries too, although I have decided to share them with a rather persistent Blackbird.
I treated myself to a large cappuccino with an extra shot, and a sausage sandwich with white bread, butter and HP sauce. I ate it overlooking Porthmeor beach in the shadow of the Tate. It was divine. No really, it was. I think I might have made lip smacking noises.
Pops and I have been to our local pick your own. We needed a lot of strawberries, and the slugs have laid waste to ours. For every success in the garden, there is also something that doesn't fulfill it's promise. It's good for me. I have to relinquish my need to control. I have to just go with the flow of the garden, help it as much as I can, and hope for the best. Olly would only pick the biggest strawberries that he could find. I may have eaten quite a few. They factor that in when you pay for them, right?
When I was little and it was raining, or when all other options had been explored, my Mum would get out the 'den cloth.' I think it was probably a super sized dust sheet. She would drape it over the dining room table, make me and my sister a plate of snacks, and shoo us under. It was her last resort when we were getting under her feet during the holidays. Olly likes a den too. I have been quite grateful for that this week. Excuse his slightly on show bare bottom. He is usually nude at home. I like this picture, because this is how life actually is for me. And most of you I suspect. You should have seen the mess at the other end of the room.
It's all go this weekend. Olly has his nursery barbecue. I am out for a meal with lovely ladies. And we are hoping to take that trip in Betty to Godrevy, although the weatherman has told me we won't be.
Have a wonderful weekend. Be good.
I've just realised that I haven't credited Gillian, who is the instigator of the weekly happy. Sorry matey xx