Fifty shades of grey

Fifty shades of grey

Fifty shades of grey defined my skin tone today. Minus five working outside is a bit like wading through treacle. It’s an effort to think, let alone function. To keep moving is key, so I started on the compost and before long began to feel the heat trickling back – although if I said my feet were warm at any point during the day, I’d be lying.

mushroom compost

The Suffolk mountain awaits. Otherwise known as mushroom compost. Good morning Britain. It’s minus five, now start shovelling…

It strikes me as amusing that I adopt the same mind set in the garden as I would for hiking a Scottish mountain, yet I return each night to a very prim and proper village, which messes with my mind. Last night I was dripping mud across the floor of the village stores (and too tired to care) casually pulling leaves from my hair and struggling with a leaking rucksack while queuing. In front lay an assortment of wicker basketry, dangling ear rings and composed sophistication. Goodbye pride.

I’m sure that on days like this other people wish themselves to warmer climes, but not me. In quiet moments of working alone, I was on Skye curled up on a rug in front of a roaring fire watching the snow fall outside.

I think that that BE is changing me in ways I didn’t expect. We are giving this place our all, every day and so it frustrates me when outside suppliers or tradespeople don’t seem to understand the urgency of the situation. Yes, we might be in the sticks, but we have Novikov’s Mayfair attitude. Now I begin by specifying that I want whatever it was, done yesterday. I certainly don’t want staff waiting for people or things which have been promised arrival and haven’t turned up. Rant over.

Charlie was pot sterilising. I would never advocate that on a day like today, but he insisted it needed to be done for his schedule, so we all mucked in – Martin defrosting the pipes with a blowtorch, Charlie donning his waterproof gear and Pip and I carrying and stacking trays. 

Charlie, sterilising pots

Caught him! Check out Charlie sterilising pots. No one could accuse him of camouflage in that get up.

We’re all so used to each other now that any self-consciousness goes out of the window, especially when the going gets tough. We’ve taken to singing, dancing, swearing – and as for the humour, it’s black. 
My highlight of the day? Gathering around the bonfire this evening with that satisfied feeling of another day done. Oh, and Keane was there. Who is he? I hear you ask. The GORGOUS new redhead in my life whom I was convinced I would hate.

bonfire in the garden

Ahhhhhhhh. Now this is more like it.

I’ll ask Keane if he minds his picture being taken tomorrow. He’s a bit camera shy. Well, dogs are, aren’t they?


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