26 May 2013


 You know how people photo themselves lolling on a beach with the wine dark stretching before them, send them to envious pals?

This my bliss, from a deckchair darkening

  • Not a mower or scythe in sight
  • Not a soft tread followed by a murmured  obscenity straight from the 'Under-gardener's Handbook' of treadmill slavery.
  • A favourite phrase was, "When you've next got your big clippers handy ..."
How i loved to lash back, "They're not my clippers and when have you known me ever to have them 'handy'. Any time I see a gardenry tool, I take it down pronto to the apothiki, out of sight, lest the damn'd thing serve as a reminder!"

Oh boy, oh boy - what a piece of work.

But take a look at me now - free (sing it, Phil), the grindstone blunt and bush'd, blue skies above, ankle-chains off, the mental weals healing.

These are the photos I should send and show to the Simper-Fi mob when they joke in their appalling taste, "And how does the garden grow?" Titter giggle smirk.

Fertilise this!


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