Water, Water Everywhere

I have a lot of oddly-shaped roofs on my house, and a great many outbuildings, all with nice gutters. The house ones mostly drain directly into pipes leading to the septic tank, apart from one where the rain can run so forcefully that it misses the gutter and bounces straight down the wall. But the others - one along each side of the garage, one along the side of what was the old washhouse, and one on what is now my woodshed - pour straight onto the ground. That may have been fine when the garden was a haven for donkeys, but it's turned over a new leaf now. You can't grow roses and clematis under Suffolk's version of Niagara Falls. And so I've been buying water butts, the slimline ones, and plan to attach a length of hose to each of them for the winter so that the water can drain straight into the ditch, or moat as I like to call it in grandiose moments. In the summer I'll have plenty of water in dry spells, and I'm hoping Santa will send me a team of elves to wield the heavy watering cans.

Another problem is a bit more slippery. A few months ago I painted the Room With No Name, a nice F & B Slipper over the horrible bright yellow. It and the attached utility room on the way to the cloakroom were the only ugly spaces in the house. I was very pleased with the result, happy that one coat had covered the yellow so well. Yesterday I did the utility area, but this morning I can see that it needs another coat. Puzzled, I had a closer look at the RWNN, only to discover that it probably needs a second coat as well. The space is so gloomy I hadn't noticed. Darn it! The nearly full tin that was left behind by the previous owners is virtually empty, and in any case I haven't got the will to do it again. Luckily the handy Tony is coming this afternoon with his father to hang my huge mirror in the RWNN. I'm sure he can whip around the walls in no time for me. Painters love to be indoors in the winter.

I had occasion to go into Framlingham before 9 this morning, and what a different world it is then! Traffic jams, queues, the usual laid-back atmosphere charged with tension. It took me eight minutes to get to my destination where normally it's only five. At one point I was waiting behind four cars to get through the town. I'm not doing that again. Life's too short.