Hedge trimmed, grass cut, Saturday lunch at a favourite pub. Well, the smallest of the hedges is done, and I'll probably tackle a couple of the others, but the green wall of leylandii across the back is somewhat more daunting. With an eye to avoiding litigation, I've hacked back some branches of trees and shrubs that overhang the (unlit) footpath. Imbued with all this energy, we've made another advance in our campaign against Magnolia: there's a first coat of pale blue paint on the spare bedroom walls. Hall, stairs, landing and the bedroom remain to be tackled, however. I can't imagine why people use the wretched colour. The property-porn TV shows describe it as 'magnificent magnolia'. The version currently being sold is a rather pallid flesh colour: when our walls had it inflicted on them, it was a dirty white. Neither bears any resemblance to the colour of any living magnolia I've met, so I'll stick with my qualifier: Miserable Magnolia.
Splendid lunch at Barbara's today: salad with smoked salmon and big shrimps, followed by bangers and mash, all helped along with a Corbières from the reliable boys at the Celliers du Mont Tauch in Tuchan. Not a lovely drive to Brighton, though: a mix of ditherers and racing motorbikers taking dreadful risks. Overtaking at 90 in a 50 limit across double white lines. I suspect a percentage of them won't make old bones, and hope they don't take any innocent road users with them. Where are the police when you want them?
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