The Furies Cometh

Greek tragedy is full of injustices, vengence being exacted for crimes committed by association. It's always, or nearly always, the innocent who get visited by the Furies. Hubris is not always a factor. Sometimes a friendly god can be persuaded to intervene and change the inevitable. My nemesis has found me and is beginning to wreak havoc in many guises. Who is this all-powerful one? It's the Lawn Devil. First of all my wildly expensive turf was colonised by rough meadow grass that flowered and spread its seeds everywhere. Next came a plague of mushrooms, small brown yokes that proliferated across the lawn's surface. Now it's that enemy of gardeners everywhere, the mole. Early this morning I dreamed that I peeled back the corner of the grass to find a network of tunnels but no sign of the little black pest. When I came down at 6am there was a third pile of earth but no evidence of immediate activity. The lawn is already looking dreadful because the turf company have come and sprayed it to kill the meadow grass. They've agreed to refund the entire cost, £750, and I can see that all going to the mole catcher.

The new fence, and the new path

Half of the fencing is now complete, and in a surge of optimistic generosity I let the dog out in the garden, thinking she would stay put as her usual escape route had been closed. Not a bit of it. In the middle of a game of throw-the-ball, which I admit I was thoroughly enjoying, she disappeared into the field again. None of my entreaties would make her even look up from the immediate job of eating the field, and it was more than an hour before I got her back. I didn't try to catch her all that time, trusting that she was unlikely to leave the field. Instead I worked on the massively weedy vegetable bed, beginning to clear it for a planting of leeks. It was satisfying work, and when I finished, dog now safely indoors, I wallowed in the deepest Radox bath I've had in years and soaked all the aches away. The Radox was a Mother's Day present a few years ago, and it's such a luxury to indulge in its relaxing properties.

First vegetable bed, nearly ready

So I was up at 6am. It's not an hour that I am generally acquainted with, or have any desire to see again. And it's not as if I had an early night last night. Donna Tartt's Goldfinch is my bedtime companion, so I blame it and her for delaying my sleep. Bridge today is bound to suffer, just as lunch with Helen on Wednesday, including a bottle of Prosecco consumed just before our bridge afternoon, helped us come second from bottom. Luckily Helen doesn't use the internet to check the results. "Did we come last?" she always asks, and I can honestly usually reply with feigned astonishment "No!"

Drive from the lane

 

 

 

 

Newly-painted garage, nearly finished

And the side, all done