Mum is putting up the bunting for the jubilee. ‘Hold that, Wilma’. How am I supposed to hold the end of a small piece of string without letting go. How was I to know that if I let go the pieces Mum had carefully threaded will all fall off again? If she wanted the job taken seriously she should have asked Aristotle. Mind you, he was too busy getting upset because the squirrel has been at his parsnips and carrots again. He really shouldn’t have waited a couple of days before asking Dad to help him cover them. He doesn’t need me to point that out to him though.
The saga of the compost bin
Mum is having a saga all her own. She bought a new wooden compost bin. When it arrived it had posts that needed to be hammered into the ground and involved a lot of drilling and screwing. Her enthusiasm for it waned rather. She thought it would all slot together in five minutes. The ground is far too firm to hammer three inch posts into, so she ordered some spikes for it to sit in. A good idea in principle if she’d bought the right size – she didn’t. We only found out when Dad came to sort it out for her.
Now we are waiting for the new bigger spikes to arrive and the first ones to be sent back. With hindsight she thinks she should have bought a different compost bin.
Shadow is not as bad as she was, but she isn’t ok. She doesn’t want to eat in a morning and is waking in the night coughing, just not as badly. Mum has booked her in for a scan next week so the vet can see if there is more that can be done about the underlying problem of her heart.