I had a nice lie-in today.
I was not long out of bed, at that time where the body is almost working normally but the brain was still in neutral, when The Mob arrived at the back door. Our K8, TAT, Sir Fartzalott and Woodja the dog had decided to honour us with their presence.
After I separated our Penny from Woodja’s throat [well, he never should have gone near her food dish], we settled down for a pleasant visit. Woodja played with a tree trunk in the garden, Sir Fartzalott did jigsaws and K8 and TAT finished off the last of our coffee. They talked while I listened and the brain slowly woke up.
By the time they left, the brain was nearly fully awake and I began to mull over the jobs to do in the garden.
Then a friend of Herself came knocking on the back door [the only person who ever uses the front door is Stampie the postman]. When women get talking I like to make myself scarce, but it started to fucking piss down rain, so I couldn’t escape to the garden.
So I’m stuck in the front of the house now while the wimmin yak away in the back, and the rain thunders off the roof.
I don’t know when I’ll get the gardening done.
I suppose there is always tomorrow?
And if tomorrow never comes then I won’t give a fuck about the garden.
Or anything else for that matter.