Productivity

The male guardian and I have had a most productive time over the few days of the weekend, going hither and thither, cross county's and back. 'Tas been busy, it has to be said but, as the saying goes, "if you want something done, ask a busy person". The upper floor of our dear home is beginning to take shape and these last few days have seen a fresh coat of paint upon ceiling and walls of a most becoming and restful shade. Fabric for one set of windows has been chosen from a rather delightful outlet specialising in fabrics and awaits one's ministrations, along with delivery of some blackout fabric, for 'tis most important when someone undertakes night duty to reproduce that darkened environment in which to partake of restful sleep. Since I last undertook a soft furnishing project of this type, new devices have been produced to ensure a smooth rise and fall of a roman blind, so much nicer than fiddling with hooks, string and the like. My dears, the joy of an hour, ahem, or two, spent considering fabric is such a delightful pastime. Oh, I did enjoy myself but the choice, dear souls, the choice really was so difficult. Bolts of beautiful fabric did so dazzle the eyes, one felt like a child in the proverbial sweet shop, however, one finally made one's choice, purchasing enough to create two roman blinds. An added bonus was the dress fabric section; I do believe a return visit will shortly be on the cards.

The garden has also received our ministrations; the lawns neat and tidy, some new containers purchased and filled with an assortment of potential, a few new plants selected and each spot for them carefully considered before planting. Oh, the delights of a garden, however, residing in the country as we do, we are oft visited by the local wildlife. Once again, we have been visited by a member of the Brock family and well, where do we start. As a species they are most strong indeed but also have an inherent foraging tendency that has seen the estate lawns come to resemble a forest floor after the wild boar have been through. No, dear reader, 'tis not a good look for the lawn, for it has been left pockmarked and cratered in their wake. Typically, they have ignored the actual orchard, where one would not mind, and gone straight for the lawns. Ah, well, dear souls; the joys of living in the country are many and varied I do believe. Infinitely smaller than the Kangaroos that visit my dear twin sister's garden and for that I am most grateful. Imagine the size of the holes if a badger were the size of a kangaroo. Oh, my, my, we are thankful for small mercies, my dears.