My old dentist retired a couple of years ago. Been meaning to sign up with the only other dentist in town, but didn't quite get around to it. Fear, that's the problem. Anyways, having lost an old cap (is that the right technical term?) from one of my choppers, and having discovered a few holes in other fangs, I eventually plucked up the courage to enter the devil's den sometime last week to see if I could arrange an appointment. Charming receptionist booked me in for Thursday at 10.15am. Turned up yesterday on the dot of 10.14 and took a seat in the waiting room, reeking of peppermints. Nervous wreck. I'd been dreading this moment for the entire week since making the appointment. Even considered chickening out with some lame excuse, but decided against it. Be brave! It'll be fine when it's over! As there were three other people in the waiting room, I knew I'd be in for a long wait. Maybe up to an hour. Or more. Wasn't sure I could bear the torture of waiting that long without doing a runner. Then the receptionist came in and grabbed the next victim. So now I was third in line. With luck maybe just a thirty minute wait. Sheer hell, but way better than waiting for an hour. Five minutes later, the receptionist came in again. Brilliant! At this rate my waiting time might be down to around fifteen minutes. Quite a relief. But this time, instead of grabbing the next victim, she looked straight at me. Aaaarrggghh! No, not me! I'm not ready yet! These other two are before me! Fumbling with her desk diary, she asked the time of my appointment. Told her 10.15. Checked the diary. No, you're not in. Bit more fumbling with diary. Aha! Yes, 10.15! But 10.15 next week! And with that I made a sheepish exit and began another week of nervous wreckdom. Nightmare.
Snow's gone. Snowdrops, daffs and crocuses have appeared. Spring is in the air. Then down comes another load of snow. Came last Saturday night. Luckily it melted by Sunday afternoon but it served as a reminder that spring hasn't really sprung... yet. Come to think of it, the only thing in the air at the moment is the stench of cow poo. It's that muck-spreading time of year. The local farmer and his two sons, plus Christian's farmer brother and nephew, have been enthusiastically hauling their tractors and muck-chucking wagons across the hillside fields. My three regular dogwalks (out back, up the lightning tree and along the cemetery run) are all poo-infested. Slippy as hell. Dogs love it though. For some strange reason they go bananas and start running every which way with their noses surfing the ground. They even eat the stuff given half a chance. Nightmare. And the state of their paws when I eventually get the buggers back to the car! Yuck! Even worse, I have to lift Jock up 'cos his legs are too short so my hands get covered in cow poo off his undercarriage. Then, without realising my shoes are covered in the stuff, it gets transferred to the car pedals. Tricky driving with slippy pedals. Especially braking. Makes braking on the local poo covered lanes doubly interesting. Slip sliding along. Almost as bad as ice. Ah well, soon be spring. Have I said that before?
Anyways, just for Georgie who likes to know how the garden's doing, here are a few snaps of spring-type growths. Er, and the plant I bought about thirty years ago which has, so far, been carted around five homes (spends its life in dusty, cobwebby corners). Georgie re-potted it a few years back which gave it a new lease of life. Have to say I'm not exactly brilliant at taking care of the thing, but it seems to survive despite my lack of attention. Don't know a lot about whatever-it-is apart from the fact that it doesn't like direct sunlight or lots of watering, apparently. However, when I finally thought it had lost the will to live a few weeks back (during that freezing spell), I moved it away from the window and closer to the fire, chucked it some water and then stuck it in the sunshine - all the things I understand you shouldn't do. Told it to get a grip and fart in the face of adversity. Amazingly, it perked up the next day so I dusted and washed it, gave it a bit more sun (not that there was much) and another drink of water. Then it started budding and flowering. There's life in the old triffid yet. Yup, it's a tough old thing. Indestructible. Wonder if it'll do even better with a dollop of cow poo?
Bohemian hermit recluse hiding in the mist-shrouded hills and backwoods of central France; went to art school in the mid-Sixties and never really left; smokes like a fish (now given up) and drinks like a chimney (now only occasionally); fervent supporter of Aldershotnil FC; fascinated by the mystery of disappearing odd socks; follically, cosmetically and vertically challenged but horizontally unchallenged, otherwise perfect (it says here); probably one of the luckiest geezers in the whole wide world.