I must think of something ordinary and reassuring.
I must weed.
I must re-pot my pumpkins.
I must do everything I can to take my mind from yesterday.
Perhaps I should sow beetroot?
* * * * *
It started alright.
(Yesterday.)
Slugs are irritating - but not alarming.
(Unless, as Linda comments, you get one stuck on the end of your finger!)
(But how, I ask, does a woman with the largest known collection of gardening gloves ever - manage to get a slug on the end of her finger?)
* * * * *
It's all the fault of the squash.
Ming wants to 'start off'' so many, I'm beginning to wonder whether the thought of returning to the M.O.D. (and dusting and polishing its nuclear weapons) is getting him down.
Is he thinking of farming instead?
But - he is my husband - 'for better or worse' - and the very 'worst' I was expecting yesterday was only that emptying the airing cupboard would be something of a trial.
But that was precisely where the trouble began.
* * * * *
I must think about knitting.
Or think about pressing some seeds into lichen on top of the garden wall.
(Or do it!)
Perhaps I should go for a long - very long - walk?
* * * * *
What could have possessed me?
A spirit of recklessness may have crept in.
The duvets for winter were heavy and awkward; I failed when I thought of the cupboard downstairs.
So I took all our clothes from the wardrobe, replaced them with bedding and towels; then I carried the shirts, and our knickers and socks, our vests and our trousers and jumpers and hankies and everything else to the shed.
The sensible part of me thought:-
"If the washing machines are needed, our clothes (which were now piled inside) - would be seen . And the person planning to use them (the machines) (Worthing or Ming) would remove them (the clothes) before turning them on (the machines)."
And the sensible part of me took great care to avoid the buttons and dials.
What I didn't consider was they (the machines) could possibly start on their own.
And another part of me thought:-
If something went wrong, our clothes (and the odd sock or two) would be swapped for some 'new' ones. It'd be fun to wear Martian attire for a change.
The wool shop. I think I'll go to the wool shop. I'll buy a pattern and knit.
Perhaps I should make lace. (Already I know how to tat.)
(Are there two 'T's at the end of 'tat' or just the one?)
If only I could dig something!
But - what I hadn't expected (the faint hearted should stop reading here) was a pile of flexible skins!
(For Martians to use.)
(When disguising themselves as humans.)
* * * * *
The parsley hasn't grown much.
For Tomorrow
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