A sudden scary hail-like clattering seemingly about to pierce our bathroom window panes with a virulent volley at 7.10 a.m. this morning ensured that I was fully awake enough to investigate further.
A violent storm had lifted the patio parasol and, leaving the base behind, threaded it through the arms of a chair ripping the canvas top. Three minutes later all was still and silent. Jackie had righted the pot of chrysanthemums on the table before I produced my camera. Later we unthreaded the parasol pole and returned it to the base.
Fortunately the rain kept away while, returning with two reconstituted stone plinths, we transported another fifteen bags of garden refuse to Efford Recycling Centre.
The postman had delivered an admissions letter with a schedule of dates for my BCG vaccination installation procedures, beginning on Wednesday in two days time. This will mean six once weekly trips to Southampton General Hospital and some unpleasant side affects.
I had hoped to put my feet up this afternoon in preparation for some more chopping and bagging up of pruning from the section along the West Bed fence which Martin hadn’t had time for at the end of his recent visit.
Since I will probably be out of garden action for the next two months I
decided to carry out this task today and take a rest tomorrow. It needed five spent compost bags.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s wholesome shepherd’s pie; sliced fried potatoes; firm cauliflower, carrots, and Brussel’s sprouts, with which I drank Patrick Chodot cru du Beaujolais 2023.