Dear Diary,
Bank Holiday Monday. In my mindseye, I already had the day planned; get up at noon, drag myself out of bed to the tune of a strong coffee and peanut butter toast. Plant myself on the sofa in front of some crap on the telly and stagnate there for the rest of the day with a bottle of wine and my mums food ripe for the eating. Oh happy day.
It's lovely and familiar coming back to the old family home I grew up in, although stepping over the threshold is like entering a timewarp where I immediately revert back to my sedentary teens. Most of my time is spent on my arse, eating and drinking; but this time I'm not trying to pull a fast one to go out and illicitly drink cheap cider in the park with a bunch of dubious schoolmates. I'm happy these days to sprawl in front of the telly watching Sparticus for the 103rd time, grasping an indecently full glass of red, whilst mum snores gently in her recliner chair opposite.
My plans for today were promptly thwarted as soon as I strolled lazily down the stairs, the TV guide beckoning me forward. Mum hones into view at the bottom of the stairs, watering can in hand channelling Margot Leadbetter from the 'Goodlife.' The sense of foreboding is real.
Two long and laborious hours later, sweating like a pig and aching like a proverbial bastard, I have turned soil, planted bulbs, shrubs and greenery of all description. I have deadheaded roses, pulled weeds, been stabbed by vindictive thorns and will probably show symptoms of lock-jaw before the day is out. I've dodged bees, been walked over by the biggest spiders known to man and have faced down too many slime covered slugs to count. I have bravely stifled my screams walking face first into sticky cobwebs and steadfastly resisted the urge to beat my personal best,sprinting away from every humming insect that hovers within earshot.
By the time my 82 year old mum calls Time, I have performed so many squats, biceps flexed over numerous full watering cans and bent over that much rock hard soil trying to till it, that my back aches and my bum muscles are in spasm. Who needs the gym if you can garden instead? Hopefully that will have lifted my backside a few inches (always look for the positives)! The wine and TV guide are still calling, but this time there are no chores diverting me from my vocation. Time to relax and pour...
Happy holidays.