Arghhhhh

This morning my doctor informs me (after vigorous sadistic prodding and manipulation)  that I have done a grand job in ripping swathes of muscles in my back, which came as good news as I had written myself off with either diverticulitis or kidney failure. That is gardening for you. I'll insist Mrs FP handles that in future. In spite of me being doped up, strapped up and generally demonstrating a very unhappy comedy gait, a visit to the dreaded big yellow and blue Swedish warehouse was mooted.

I was last there some fifteen years ago and vowed never to return. However coaxed and cajoled and bribed with a lunch at the Secret Herb Garden and with my resolve weakened in a codeine induced fuzz I capitulated. A lot of their stuff is now actually very nice, although I still find the forced double maze that has to be negotiated to get out an unnecessary chore.

Lunch at the Herb Garden was grand, although the ordered Cauliflower and Coriander soup tasted exactly like potato and leek.

Nurse! Is it time for my medication?