This afternoon, at The Bun’s abode, I was greeted with a concerned “What shall we do? The potatoes are growing too well!”. The strange phenomenon of plants growing in the spring is something I have come across before. However, it has never previously been considered a problem, especially when they are doing it “well”. Needless to say, Mrs B was given one of my stern looks.
The look was soon on the other face.
As someone who has spoken previously, and possibly for too long, about the increasing need for spectacles, you would imagine I would be especially careful with them. Wrong. Approximately half an hour into my visit I realised I had mislaid them. How difficult could it be to find them again? Well the rain was pouring, my eye sight was diminished and the glasses were green rimmed. Tricky. We retraced my steps (which turned out to be a bit of roundabout route, it appears that I am easily distracted) and found nothing. Never mind, they were only a cheap pair. Perhaps best to avoid any precision work. Like gardening. No problem, I would wing it.
A little later a scream rang out from Mrs B. I imagined it was of horror (she had perhaps found my sans-specs pruning) but was in fact one of delight. Inside the compost bin, amongst the grass clippings, the dead armeria and althaea off-cuts, were my glasses. How on earth did they get there? I blame the chickens. A quick wipe on my trousers and all came back into focus.
And yes, there was a retributional look. And much deserved it was too.