Wednesday, 20 May 2015
Oliver has spent a great deal of time constructing a home for snails. It all started at the weekend, as I wandered around the garden cursing them and their destruction of my Hostas. He got hold of a bucket, collecting as many as he could find. He spent ages studying them. Now I'm not a great fan of snails, being a gardener and all that, but they really are amazing creatures. Their construction for a start. That perfect whorl of their shell. Their eye stalks. The way they get around on one foot and the sticky mucus that they create and use to such fantastic effect. Anyway the net result is that we now have a snail sanctuary in the garden. I have pointed out to Olly that he may well have to liberate them in the next couple of days, but they seem happy enough for now.
Sam, Alfie and I sat on my bed last night, giggling over offensive tweets sent to our PM from members of the public. Is it a thing peculiar to the British, this constant satirising, scrutiny and just plain old poking fun at of people in high places. I've heard that those that serve us, adore programmes such as ''The Thick Of It' and many of the very quotable lines are voiced during their debates. Margaret Thatcher's favourite tv show was ''Yes Minister, which kind of indicates that even the iron lady had penchant for satire.
I sometimes feel that I don't mention Sam and Alfie enough here. Honestly they are a constant presence, what with their eating me out of house and home, and being so tall. Sam is revising furiously at the moment. His exams start at the beginning of June. He had a 'I'm going to fail everything' panic the other night. He won't. He's worked too bloody hard. I am in awe of his work ethic and his commitment. I also feel a little sad that it has taken precedence over other things. But he's his own man (nearly. He's eighteen next week), and sometimes I need to remember that.
Alfie continues to keep me on my toes. How the most loving and affectionate child can turn on a coin into a vile mouthed brute, I will never know. Feisty is an understatement. The waters had been rather calm until this week. We had words on Monday, which escalated with lightening speed into a full blown shouting and slanging match. I'm not much better than him, once we get going. The light at the end of the tunnel is his readiness to apologise. It may come a day after the event. But it is genuine, and I can handle that. I think Alf's process into adulthood is going to a complicated mix of holding his tongue versus letting rip at any given opportunity.
We have had some sad news. Jean the chicken has died. She was most likely eaten by a fox. Beryl and Jean had been over-wintering at my sister in laws house, and were due to come back any day now. We think that it will be better for Beryl to remain with Maisie, Godfrey the female turkey and Rosie the duck. I'm not sure whether I will get any more chickens. We shall see.
I remain rather overwhelmed at all your responses to my last post. Such words of encouragement, practical advice, gentle short shrift, and very, very kinds words have really left their mark. So thank you. You will be pleased to know that I have been to plot number ten a few times, and that all seems to be growing away. Olly's carrots haven't been eaten yet. Although I have a cunning plan should that happen. In fact I'm off up there in a mo, to weed and stake. If the weather holds.
Oh, and CT, is that a Painted Lady? I thought it was and have duly logged it on my app. I'm already down on last year, and she would boost my points no end.
Love and kisses,
This seems a rather anti-climatic post. I think I've lost my blog swing. Must try harder. Or perhaps I must try not so hard.