The Patience of Job

God tried Job in many different ways, pushing him to the edge of tolerance, punishing him regardless of how good he was in order to test his character. But did God offer Job the chance of a beautiful new garden, and then pull it away from him every time it nearly became reality? No he didn't. I don't know how Job put up with his continued misfortunes; I think he may have had ECT or been lobotomised at some point. How else to explain his extraordinary placidity? Suffice it to say that he has been mythologised for his extraordinarily cruel suffering, so maybe that was a sort of reward. I am not Job. I can take so much, and then some more, and then maybe a little bit extra for luck, but then..... Today I learned that the new date for my garden is 7th July. JULY!! It'll be winter before I get it properly working. And how unfortunate that it was actually fine on the last planned date, despite the immediate weather forecast showing heavy rain. Some lady in Diss got my slot instead, and apparently her 20 tonnes of soil were moved and settled without mishap. Ahem.

I'm still feeling ill, coughing to the point of exhaustion when I'm already spent. I wonder how much longer it will go on for. It's clearly not a bacterial infection, though I must finish the course of antibiotics. I have to be well by Saturday at the latest, as I am invigilating an art exhibition at the Peter Pears Gallery in Aldeburgh, part of the Aldeburgh Festival. This is my introduction to being a volunteer at the concerts, when I'll be allowed to wear the hallowed red ribbon and medal. I have six gigs during the fortnight of the festival, some in Aldeburgh and some at Snape. Working at Snape will be a dream come true. I spend enough money there on concerts anyway, so a few free ones will come in handy.

Yesterday I made chicken soup, the sort your Jewish grandmother would make for your chest infections if you weren't Irish. Proper boiled carcass, garlic, carrots and onions. If anything will cure me a steaming bowl of that will. I'm trying to distract myself from the garden with thoughts of food, but it's still out there, baked dry and completely unproductive apart from some stubborn nettles and a strip of grass that Did missed, despite telling me that he'd sprayed in both directions, north to south  and east to west. Ahem again.

The Never-ending Garden Saga