Very busy. Dinner party at my sister’s on Friday night; GAA mini-leagues from 9.30 on Saturday morning; quick change into uniforms for the school Feis at 12 (no medals won, Daniel forgot the words to his rather difficult choice, Gugalaí Gug, the judges didn’t go for Michael’s Halloween number and herself refused to take part); then back home to greet a friend and her three children for lunch. I had swooped up the remains of my sister’s dinner party, so at least we were able to feed our guests though, the house, never tidy at the best of times, left a great deal to be desired. When they left, I spent several happy hours weeding. Tragic, I know. Sunday was spent recovering from the excesses of Saturday (including a nasty shoulder ache from my work with the pitchfork in what might as well be called the weed patch) and peering at the rain. Ah, the Irish summer.
Very similar here. Diligent weeding in the veg patch rewarded with third degree sunburn in a strip across the bottom of my back where the t-shirt rode up. You’d think someone would reward the work, not punish!
Poor Lucy – it is very wrong, isn’t it? I was out there tonight and weeds are back with renewed enthusiasm. I am very bitter.