eventually finished

Earlier this evening I was about to start typing when Mr Fidget appeared on the arm of my chair, kneading at my fleece and looking as though he might want to climb into my lap.  He sits in laps almost vanishingly rarely, and I was quite charmed by the prospect when Mr Cool pushed past him and draped himself across my thighs.  Mr Fidget retreated back to my desk and curled up behind the Systems Administrator's head, and I put my computer back on the floor and settled down to admire Mr Cool, who does not come and sit in my lap every night of the week, although I did feel that Mr Fidget should have been given a chance.  He has been in an oddly skittish mood today, running away in panic at the slightest things.

Earlier in the day I finally emptied the two partly used bags of gravel that have been sitting inside the entrance for months.  I never meant them to stay there for so long, although knowing when I bought them how easy it is for bulk bags of building materials to linger.  With this latest delivery I was making good progress spreading the gravel, then overdid things and tweaked something in my back, which took a long time to settle down, then there was my father's illness and then I went down with a chest infection, and the weeks just passed.  Meanwhile a great deal of goose grass seedlings and baby Euphorbia sprang up in the gravel around the bags, which I had to weed out before I could empty them.

I am going to need more gravel.  There are still bald patches in the drive where the tarmac shows through, and thin bits in the railway garden, and a patch that needs topping up next to the doorstep, and a wildly weedy corner at the end of the miniature desert wash that will be mostly bare earth by the time I've extracted the weeds.  But on the basis that I still have forty seven and a half bags of Strulch to spread on the borders I might leave buying more gravel for a while.  Then I might try my luck with our friendly local plant hire company, since at least they know where the farm is and might not be so grumpy about the private road as the man on the telephone was at the last place I used.  The driver when he delivered the gravel was perfectly cheerful about the access and said that the trouble with the customer service chap was that he drove a desk, not a lorry, but gardening is supposed to be fun and life is too short to spend dealing with miserable people on the telephone.

The rusted iron letters FAIL BETTER look so much finer and more artistic now they are not standing above two collapsed bulk builders' bags and a thatch of weeds, I feel regretful I didn't manage to finish moving the gravel before.  I invited the Systems Administrator to come and admire his handiwork now it could be seen uncluttered, but the SA was more relieved that the bamboo screen he put up at the same time hadn't blown down in the gale of two nights ago.