this is where I sit and survey my domain...
the nerve centre of my operations.
The sofa has special Dr. Who powers, once in its grasp I struggle to get away.
Thoughts, ideas, dreams and schemes fill my head.
Transported by cerebral pathways -
the only way to travel I find, and so very cheap
in these days of scrimp and scrape.
This morning bright and early I got up and, mug of tea in hand, wandered over to my studio.
This is the current project...
my bedroom patchwork curtains...
Why, Oh why can't I just nip out like normal folk and buy a bit of material and run up a pair of curtains, sink back in the sofa and do something more worthwhile, like read?
This is only the first curtain; now I find I've got to blooming repeat the process.
And another thing...
A question for those of you that know about these things...
Should I do those running stitches snaking around to make it look like I know what I'm doing?
The trouble is my head is full of all these madcap ideas which
I don't have the nous to follow through!
I did make a start on the second curtain bright and early.
After breakfast, Lettice's walk.
I marched out with red body warmer (Yes it was blooming freezing)
armed with three-pronged fork, smartly carried over my right shoulder. I rehearsed the manoeuvres I'd seen on the Trooping of the Colour yesterday. Long-suffering man and dog are used to my rather bizarre behaviour - luckily. They just pretended I wasn't with them!
No change there. Pockets full of poo bags and Waitrose carrier bags ready for the scrumped booty this sortie was all about. I was happy.
The object of my desire was a strange plant I'd seen outside a house that was just in the process of having new tenants. An ideal time I thought to do a daylight raid.
I held the dog while the mere minion was sent in to grapple with the ground.
Three pieces of aforesaid plant were apprehended and taken back for further interrogation.
Over my shoulder the Triffid-like vegetation went and back we trolled. Me with the innocent look of...
'Well doesn't everyone take their perennials for a perambulation on a Sunday morning?'
Back home I shot up the garden and planted the prize specimens; coffee freshly brewed I sunk back in the sofa, smug with the thought that it's still only 10.45am.
At this juncture I feel I ought to come clean about another plant I carefully grew...
not knowing of its thuggish characteristics.
Answers on a postcard to...