Once a fortnight
Once a fortnight was what I agreed with Mum. I would go swimming once a fortnight. I don’t like it, but it seemed like a good compromise. Yesterday she booked me in for next Wednesday. Even an old dog like me can’t be fooled into thinking that is a fortnight. That is a week – one week, not two! Oh I heard her arguments – my legs haven’t been good, it will help, I’ll thank her for it – NO I won’t. I don’t like swimming and that’s all there is to it. She did say that with her and Wilma going away I will miss some weeks, but I was already banking on that. I didn’t expect her to sneak in an extra session ‘for my benefit’.
Blowing my coat
Ok, so I did rather blow my winter coat in one go earlier in the week and yes, the shower at the swimming pool has left my new summer coat looking nice and shiny and feeling great, but that is little compensation for having to swim while I was there.
Mum gave me a good brush when my coat was ready to fall out. She says she can never remember any of us losing quite so much in one go before. As I say with everything, if a job’s worth doing it’s worth doing well – and that particular job was shedding an unwanted layer of warmth. I’m never good in hot weather, so not carrying any spare winter coat seemed like a good idea.
Mixed news in the garden
My broccoli, carrots, parsnips and potatoes are all coming on a treat, but you are not going to be happy about the squash. I put in four rows and one whole row has been eaten by something. I wanted to replant but Mum said that didn’t seem such a good idea and we’ll put the spares in further over while she investigates what has gone wrong.
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