CURMUDGIONS, BAY TREES AND MYSTERIES

I've decided to be a 'Curmudgion'.

Curmudgionliness will restore dignity to my bad temper.

(I'll re-claim it; revel in it; put it on show.)

Gardeners are always Curmudgeons for they prefer to be alone. If ever they slip guard and seem to be sociable - beware, they are only pretending.

Dictionaries say Curmudgions are misers.

They are wrong.

And, even if they were right, I'd miss out on that bit.

For if I stash my cash in a soft leather bag and stow it under the floorboards, I won't have the money to buy globe artichoke seeds - and I need to replace the packet I lost.

(Where is it? Where are the beetroot seeds? )

People who have nothing to mise (because they've spent their money) - can't be misers.

So - miserliness will have to be scrubbed - for I am re-claiming 'Curmudgion'.

* * * * *

Little boys eating chips in a quiet restaurants are a strain on Curmudgionly spirit.

Waitresses smiling at noisy little boys dissolve it.

* * * * *

Curmudgion, Curmudgion

Curmudgionliness

Curmudge.

(This is fun!)

* * * * *

Oooops!
* * * * *

The Bay (round its trunk) has white spots of mould - so I've turned it into a tree.

A proper tree.

I've opened it out; let in the air; brightened the light in the garden.

And the garden, suddenly, is bigger; more elegant; less jungly (more disturbing).

* * * * *

Looking forward to seeing Ming on Monday.

I have to write to the school - say the boys.

(For time off!)

School?

_____

For Tomorrow