The old wrought-iron gate attracted a lot of interest on Freegle, and went off on Wednesday, miraculously, in the back of a VW Polo. At which point things began to go tits-up. I managed to lock myself into the back garden, where all three doors were locked, my mobile phone was locked inside the house, and Martyn was out of earshot. I rashly decided to climb over the wall and fell heavily, twisting my back and bruising my best feature. I’m OK when I’m moving about, but getting up and sitting down elicit coarse words.
Thursday’s daub went reasonably well, though I wouldn’t class it as more than a sketch. That completes my acrylic assault on the Canal Latéral à la Garonne, I think, so I may need to apply myself to the Cool Britannia theme that Miss has suggested.
Meanwhile, the seed potatoes are ordered for next spring, and I’ve harvested runner bean seeds. The garden needs rather a lot of attention, but won’t get it until my back and backside are hurting a bit less.
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