The Gods, it seems, do not want me weeding the garden. Every time I am on the verge of donning Uncle Tommy’s excellent gardening strides the wind whips up to a howling hoolie and it starts to rain. I have mustered three, maybe four, decent days out with my tools since my last confession. (AndContinue reading “Taking the hint”
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No dancing, but some prancing.
The rain deigned to stop this morning. Dog walking and gardening therefore resumed. As a result, Christmas Elfery was limited to the hour or so between peeling off the muddy gardening clothes and our penultimate pilates class of the year (which, as mum is at great pains to point out, is one more than sheContinue reading “No dancing, but some prancing.”