Here’s Mud In Your Eye

On another dull day Aaron, of A.P. Maintenance, completed his installation of a gate beside the house that he had begun last Sunday.

So hard was our house wall that he had difficulty drilling into it.

He then erected a frame on the opposite side,

attached hinges and a latch, and fitted the structure into place.

After lunch we took a brief drive into the forest, where

ditches, like this one on the corner of Woodcock Lane and Silver Street are beginning to flow over the roads.

Our familiar gimlet eyed pony, fresh from a mud bath,

awkwardly, as they all do,  roused itself,

wandered over to see if I would offer anything to eat,

and settled for what was in the field, after wishing me good health with the phrase

“here’s mud in your eye”.

As, bound for home, I began to climb back into the Modus a pony and trap came

clopping towards us. I sat on the car’s bonnet instead,

exchanged greeting’s with the riders,

 

and waved them on their way.

Back home I watched the Six Nations rugby match between England and France.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s succulent sausage casserole; creamy mashed potato; varicoloured carrots; and tender cabbage, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Malbec.