The serious sulks

Day two and we still aren’t on speaking terms. Oh dear.   But at least he is following me about.   Better than guarding the entrance to His Potting Shed and not letting me in.

It was still drizzling today so I thought it an idea to have a busman’s holiday. For the past three weeks I have been painting our new apartment in London. So what did I decide to do?  Finish all the walls and beam in the shed.

Mad. But it really does look odd having some marine ply walls in all their brown glory, some white walls and others a shade of soft green.   So out came the paint pots, away went Artur under the table and off I went.

It only took half a day and I didn’t even get too much paint on my clothes. Which is a relief as I had left my painting trousers and shirt in London. I’ll need to do lots of patchings after the furniture removals and deliverers do their stuff next Friday.

And after that I seemed to dither. I have a lot to do over the next week or so, but all I seemed to manage today was to cut down the asparagus fronds in the top vegetable bed.   They are a wonderful vivid yellow right now and it’s almost a shame to see them go.   But cut back they must be.   And I mulched the stalks and the entire row with a rather lovely pile of mulch from a makeshift bed up in the potager.

I had quite given up hope of these compost bins producing any good muck. They are forever dry and parched.   But somehow, after I pulled away a few feet of dessicated stalks, I found some good crumbly black gold underneath.

Tomorrow I must plant those eragrostis.   And get gardening for real.   Pruning just doesn’t feel like real work.