so bury me by some sweet Garden-side
Sunday, 14 March 2010 09:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
freckles_and_doubtYesterday we roasted a pig. Or, rather, my Evil Landlord paid a gentleman of our acquaintance untold dosh to set up in our garden at 10am with an electric spit, a box of coals and a carcass, and at 8pm the 40 or so dear and close friends we'd invited around all ceremonially burned their fingers on the crackling. Any time I vaguely think about becoming vegetarian, I think of pork crackling, and the impulse slinks away going "Oh, all right, then, I take your point" in a rather shamefaced fashion.
Of course, said giant party (occasion: Gosh We Have A Newly Renovated House, Come and Celebrate, and Absolutely Not Anything To Do With The Evil Landlord's 40th Birthday Which Was Uncelebrated In January) also necessitated me visiting four supermarkets, some of them twice, between 8.30am and 3pm, and spending the entire day constructing meringues, chocolate brownies, various salads, garlic roast potatoes, and unearthing sufficient utensils to feed the hordes. Then I cleaned up after it all, resulting in four bags of recycling and two of rubbish, plus the plastic-wrapped pig carcass, dealing with which is uncomfortably like burying a small body.
Today, by way of encore, I hit the local nursery and acquired about ten bags of compost and a small, portable herbacous border. Several hours of digging later, I have slightly persuaded the blasted heath of our garden to take a few tottering steps away from the Dark Tower in the approximate direction of Lothlorien, and have thoroughly doused it in water by way of encouragement. (I have also fulminated mightily about our gardener, who is proving something of a broken reed in the "doing anything at all to the garden I want, describe or expect" department, phooey).
However, today plus yesterday means my feet are sore, my legs are sore, my arms ache, my back aches, my hands are in shreds, there is dirt under my fingernails, I've sliced my fingers and put my weird wrist out again hauling bags when I shouldn't. I am, however, happy to report that (a) the new bath (which I hadn't tried out until tonight as it's been too bloody hot for baths) is nothing short of beautiful, and (b) it was all absolutely worth it.
I'm going to bed now. I ache.
Of course, said giant party (occasion: Gosh We Have A Newly Renovated House, Come and Celebrate, and Absolutely Not Anything To Do With The Evil Landlord's 40th Birthday Which Was Uncelebrated In January) also necessitated me visiting four supermarkets, some of them twice, between 8.30am and 3pm, and spending the entire day constructing meringues, chocolate brownies, various salads, garlic roast potatoes, and unearthing sufficient utensils to feed the hordes. Then I cleaned up after it all, resulting in four bags of recycling and two of rubbish, plus the plastic-wrapped pig carcass, dealing with which is uncomfortably like burying a small body.
Today, by way of encore, I hit the local nursery and acquired about ten bags of compost and a small, portable herbacous border. Several hours of digging later, I have slightly persuaded the blasted heath of our garden to take a few tottering steps away from the Dark Tower in the approximate direction of Lothlorien, and have thoroughly doused it in water by way of encouragement. (I have also fulminated mightily about our gardener, who is proving something of a broken reed in the "doing anything at all to the garden I want, describe or expect" department, phooey).
However, today plus yesterday means my feet are sore, my legs are sore, my arms ache, my back aches, my hands are in shreds, there is dirt under my fingernails, I've sliced my fingers and put my weird wrist out again hauling bags when I shouldn't. I am, however, happy to report that (a) the new bath (which I hadn't tried out until tonight as it's been too bloody hot for baths) is nothing short of beautiful, and (b) it was all absolutely worth it.
I'm going to bed now. I ache.
