Feet on the ground

The plum tree is diseased. It never produced sweet plums, but a slim, dark purple late-ripening variety that  was stripped invariably overnight when they finally ripened. I snap off the dead branches and vow to cut down the tree when I've cleared the brambles around the base. Behind me the fire crackles. I lop branches off the overhanging  laurel tree and throw them on the bonfire. The sap sparks and sizzles, like the sap of the bay leaf. The old planks and the sycamore prunings are burned now, but I can't stop uprooting nettles and stripping bindweed from trees to feed the fire. This clearing, this enormous task, will take the rest of my leisure time for the rest of my life, but I'm hooked, keep on telling myself  I'll do just one more task, but carry on. Smoke makes my eyes smart, my tea is cold, my loppers and secateurs lie forgotten on the grass as I wrestle with eight-foot brambles. I make a mental note to order some thick suede gloves for next time.  

That was my afternoon. The bonfire and brambles adventure went on from three to seven-thirty pm. I snapped the potted echinaceas on the way in. The plants CleanSteve potted have come on well during our absence. Before the gardening episode, I had been expecting the hairdresser to turn up at 2 pm, but she did not show. She sent a text saying she'd had some bad news. I do hope she's ok. My hair is still very short.  Whatever the problem was two weeks ago, when I made the appointment,  the threat of cutting instantly subdued the tufty wisps.

In the morning I went to town for a coffee with friend J. I was happy to see the street-decoration umbrellas of Stroud again. When I paid in my Scottish banknotes at the Nationwide, the cashier commented on how much nicer they were than English banknotes. I agreed with her as we gazed at the salmon and the otters adorning the £5 and the £10 notes.

After my guerilla  gardening, Steve made a fish soup for supper while I had a bath. Now we are watching the classic movie Sabrina, which I haven't seen since I was twelve years old. Unlike me, it has not aged one bit.