I've come over all...

crabby and peculiar!

Could it be because...

I'm growing my hair but my beard is growing faster?

Or...

I went to the Affordable Art Fair in Hampstead

and came away with a total lack of confidence

in my latest

'Painting by Numbers' masterpiece?

Not only is the Laughing Cavalier not cracking

a smile, neither am I!

Or...

the fact that at the impromptu supper in our garden after the  

fete worse than death (fib),  I couldn't even join in with the barrister, the upholsterer

and the head teacher about the wonders of

Lidl and Aldi.  The world as I know it has crumbled around my feet.

Social climbing has never felt more treacherous.

I honestly think I'd be safer piggy-backing Brian Blessed up Mount Everest

on his latest attempt.

Or...

My wild gardening is frankly making me...

not to put too fine a point on it...

wild.

Why, because we have grass in the wild flower meadow, hardly any

flowers and my visions of wandering lonely as a cloud

(alright I know its too late for daffs, use your flaming imagination)

doesn't seem the same somehow, as I sniff and sneeze across great swathes

of prairie grass with nere a flower in sight.

Or...

that the froglets aren't coping at all well with their dash for

freedom across the coping stones.  Their little wet bodies on the stone

sticks them like glue and they frizzle and die like comedy cartoon characters;

all in the worse possible taste.

Riding to the rescue we removed the stones and all is well;

they manage to escape, only to be eaten by a bird or a passing hedgehog.

Talking of which, the only bit of good news is...

after our guests went last night, Ted went up to see if the hedgehog's

food had been eaten...

and there were two, having a romantic Saturday night

supper in the greenhouse.

The patter of tiny prickles just a hog hot date away.

It quite bucked me up, then I remembered I'm making an art-form

of being miserable, about the only art-form I'm any good at.

So I've just sunk into another mizz-mog.