The great time massacre continues. Yesterday was spent in contemplation of the jungle-flavoured front lawn. I’m not kidding when I say that in some places the damn stuff was thigh-high. As I battled my way through the steamy undergrowth, with machete, pith helmet and compass, I kept expecting to come across a lost city of the ancients. Or maybe some pigmies. Or a tiger… But no, it was just me, the baking sun and a Flymo that really isn’t designed to cope with the kind of grass you could hide an elephant in.
Why did I let it get so long? I was too busy sodding about with the edit for book two to even look at the lawn, let alone do anything about it. Mind you, that’s a pretty piss-poor excuse. Nothing was stopping me taking a half hour off to run the mower round it. Nope, just prevarication. Bad Stuart.
So that’s two days of forking about in the vegetable patch and one day fighting the Amazon jungle; I am well and truly pooped. Fortunately it’s going to rain all day today – which means no sodding about in the garden for me. Unfortunately that means I have to find some other way to kill time while waiting for the comments to come back on the edit. I suppose I could go write another shorty. Or maybe do something with the last one. Or maybe run around the house wearing nothing but socks and a smile. That’ll scare those damn under-stair monkeys!
* Actually, that sounds a lot ruder than I had anticipated