Now You're Talking

I've finally got a beautiful drive, thanks be to God. Lovely long-haired Richard turned up with his load of stones and delicately shovelled them into place. At one point this morning I had no fewer than three people working in the garden: as well as Richard there was Tim the fencing man who put up the extra trellis panel to screen the oil tank, and also erected a post to support my Calycanthus Occidentalis (I think); and Val who planted several dozen wallflower plants, an ivy, a lavender to pair with the lovely present I got a few months ago, and a rose. Good morning's work all round. I know the mole will be listening, but I'm extremely pleased with how the garden is coming on. Another few seasons and it will be a whole lot better. Just Did to come and cut down the hedge when the leaves have all fallen, and that's the end of my large outdoor projects, fingers crossed.

Bootiful

An unexpected job lurked this afternoon, definitely an indoor one. A few years ago I bought three pairs of moleskin trousers from the House of Bruar, in a size 14. At the time I was a big 12, the wrong side of eight and a half stone, and I decided in a fit of pragmatism that I would probably get bigger, not smaller. Hence the baggy pantaloons. But wouldn't you just know it, instead of growing I shrank, quite a lot. Result: enormous trousers, not a bit flattering, and which I hardly ever wore. A few weeks ago I happened to follow a Range Rover along the Fram road from Sax, and advertised around it's spare wheel was the name and phone number of a seamstress working from Swaffham. So I brought the trousers to her and she took them in. End of story? No. When I tried then on back at home they were all far too tight. I saw the funny side, and fell about laughing, not. I daren't take them back because, in all honesty, I've been a bit of a glutton in the two weeks since I saw her, and have probably put on several pounds. And so I've set to letting them out again. Luckily she did double seams, and the second, looser one seems good enough to hold. Sometimes I could give myself a good hard kick, but I'd probably fall over and one broken leg at a time in the family is quite enough.