Thursday, 20 August 2009

Water water everywhere...

...and all the boards did shrink! (Ryme of the Ancient Mariner, bit of culture for you all!).

Hello, this is Daddacool guest blogging using Beingamummys login credentials. If you can follow that, well done!

I'm not the worlds most organised person (ha!), so when the invitation came from my brother to pop round to his place in Welwyn Garden City and watch Arsenal thrash Celtic on Tuesday night, I decided to take the opportunity without really thinking through the consequences. That was a bit of a mistake because the window of leaving work and having to leave to get to my brothers was fairly small and had a fair amount of things to be done in it. For starters there was the 2 mile walk home, the cooling down from the walk home, a bit of child wrangling, the eating of (a lovely wifey prepared) dinner, bathing of a child who decided smearing dinner all over her chops was as much fun as eating it, moving some potential death trap bricks from the swing area and putting the nippers to bed.

Additionally, wifey had decided to chop down our holly bush which was menacing the patio window, so I had to don the gardening gloves and pop all of this in the green bin, as this involves daring the garage of doom which isn't practical with a toddler in tow. What it meant was I didn't have the chance to water the plants before I rushed off to watch the footy.

With two youngsters who are up half the night playing merry havoc (mostly it must be said, with wifey's sleep), I'm not out after dark much in the summer so it was a bit of surprise when I got home and it was dark. And of course the plants needed watering.

Don't ask me why I didn't turn any lights on, everybody was sound asleep and it seemed like a good idea at the time, but I decided to water the courgettes, tomatoes, fruit trees, rhubarb and the rest in the pitch dark. I guess I'll never be sure whether the plants or my sandalled feet got the better watering but all I know for sure is next time, I'll miss the first ten minutes of the football and do it properly.

Thanks for reading.
Posted by zooarchaeologist at 07:41

3 comments:

  1. Hello Daddacool
    I'm worried that you are Little Garden Friend's Daddy in real life. In which case Garden Girl was probably fairly justified in her fear that you would sit on her plants while she was on holiday - especially as Little Garden Friend was presumably asleep and not available to supervise.
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  2. I think that's me, although its a convoluted path to it :)

    I'm a fair dab hand at gardening actually, managing to deny all the calls of "its dead now, you might as well dig it up" that come my way and eventually result in a healthy plant emerging phoenix like from the ashes of disaster.
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  3. Keep up the good work Alex p- my mother would approve. She was famous for the many apparently defunct plants which burst into bud and/or sent up healthy new shoots from below ground after several years of masquerading as unsightly skeletons. So much so that I am now terrified of burying them alive in the compost heap and am reduced to planting screening foliage around the recently deceased to hide them from more ruthless gardeners.
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