Nah. Windy and cold today, so although the washing is dry and unter Dach, it has been largely a day for skulking indoors. Martyn has been Brunelling away up in the loft, while I've presided over the laundry and a batch of home-made 'baked' beans. Stewed, in fact, but they tasted fine on toast for lunch, and, unlike the canned variety, we know pretty much exactly what went in, give or take the secrets of the ketchup bottle. Home-made beans on home-made toast: allow me a hubristic moment.
The pond is still leaking, so has been topped up. With the prospect of much rain, I suggested that we fill it from the water butt by the kitchen door, which is the fastest to refill. This afternoon I've drained it into the spuds and various sinks and pots. Towards the end of the process, a fair old witches' brew was coming out of the tap, so I hope our spuds appreciate a diet of infused dead mozzies. The water butt is now hosed out and ready to start again. The last couple of days were pretty fine, so the grass is cut, and we've just about done barking the flower beds. We took advantage yesterday of a cool, cloudy morning to clean the house from top to bottom, so are feeling suitably virtuous.
All this energy provides some degree of distraction from our building anxiety regarding the EU membership referendum. We are still waiting for our postal voting papers, though a number of correspondents in other countries have received and returned theirs. Whatever the outcome, it seems likely that we shall soon have a new Prime Minister, and quite possibly an Autumn general election. If it's Trump and Johnson, I might just emigrate to Patagonia.
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