Saturday, 5 May 2012

That was the weak that was

Strange how time flies, tempus fugit indeed. There I was thinking it's Tuesday and Friday clips me round the ear. I'm sure it's an age thing, time does kinda move quicker the older one gets - doesn't at all of course, just feels that way - but you get what I mean.

I sat here yesterday, Thursday, thinking "this week seems to be going on forever" and then it's Saturday and the cup final is a mere 16 hours away. I love football. It's hard to explain to someone who has no interest, but it matters even in today's money squelching, mock-celebrity ridden, puss-filled pile of shite, that is the Premier League/Champions League, etc. I can't even afford to go to Stamford Bridge any more. I used to go every home game and many away games too, but not now. In fact when Chelsea were shit I went for five or six seasons in the 70s hardly missing a game at all. Oh well, this evening at 5.15 we kick off against our nemesis team of recent times, Liverpool and the following picture is a living breathing hope of triumph...

Barcelona 24th April 2012 - a truly magnificent night that I wish me mum had seen...
Anyway, gardening, a mildly important part of my current life. Rebecca's on Tuesday and as I mentioned in the previous post, a rather nasty welcome on the top of the drive:

Rather large old Horse Chestnut sans rather large low branch.

It took me a good three hours to tidy up and chop the lost
limb into reasonable sizes. Then I thought a nice pile might
attract some wild life, so that's what I did, made a nice pile...

Top of the drive. I've been trying to tidy it up for a while and I'm slowly
getting there. Last week I trimmed the hedge that runs along the right
hand side as you look at it here. It's oddly planted with a very random
higgledy piggledy style and, although I do kind of like it, it genuinely needs
a bit of formality introducing - but not too much... 

Billy who was Tilly. He gets on top of the highest perching
point an belts out the a cockle-doodle-do something akin
to an 11 year old boy with a breaking voice. Bless!
PS: I have renamed him Billy Elvis, 'cos his comb looks
like a quiff

Today I cut the lawns at Glassmill House in Berkhamsted, unfortunately my "friend" from the other week failed to get annoyed with the noise from the strimmer and lawn mower. I shall persevere and hope that he tries to shut me up again. He truly was a delightful man and yet his issues came before him, about 30 seconds in all.

Quick cheeky pint in the Rising Sun, home via watching Finlay at cricket training and ahhhhhhhhh... Off to sleep!