Blue skies and sunshine. Perfect day for washing. Could do with a less perfect day - the garden is all brown and shrivelled up, so not so much with the weeding any more. The dead plants can stay in the ground for another week. I'll pull 'em all up and think about another excursion to a nursery. I need to totally start from scratch re herb garden and veggie patch (sigh) but the fruit trees are hanging in, so more of them, and the frangipanis and geraniums are sorta okay (lost two of my fave geraniums), so more of them, I guess, just for a bit of colour.
Of course, there are more important things in the world right now to worry about, which is probably exactly why I'm fretting over the remains of my mint and parsely. Just worry about what you can fix, that sort of thing. Though I should be doing more fixing, but it's a lazy, cricket chirruping kinda summer's day, and I'm still getting over my nasty, nasty self inflicted oogey. It's nice to be warm again, even if the humidity could turn it down a notch. It's got no right being this sticky when the dust bowl we used to call a lawn languishes so. The poor old lawn mower will be webbed into its corner of the shed to tightly we'll have to cut it out, if it ever rains again. Water, water everywhere but not a drop of it here. Damn silly weather.
Meanwhile my horoscope said I'd get the merdes (their term) with something I'd been obessessing over for the last 18 months. They're not wrong. I haven't seen the White Collar finale, but I've seen enough. So, next season, in keeping with the obvious H. Rider Haggard theme they've embraced, Neal wallows in blood diamonds, shoots some endangered species and then parties with the Gaddafi boys. Prick.
It also said I'd be having upheavals in the office (no, really?) and I'd be doing more of this whole what I want when I want kick I'm on. Oh dear. You'd think I'd have learnt by now. Ah well, that's just age telling me to party less hard, the whole idea is, well. Let's just say I decided not to do stuff I didn't want to do, fielded a lot of angry calls, all of whom promised never to speak to me again. And I'm afraid my first reaction (and second, and third, and fourth...) was "Free at last...".
I know, I'm a freak and I'll die alone but alone is probably better than trying endlessly to please people who couldn't stand me, who were forever putting me down and making me feel so awful I couldn't breathe. Being without friends and family is sad and bad. Being without arseholes, that's another thing entirely.
Hence the sudden trip. I'm still working out what I like, what I want, instead of having other people tell me. I've only just discovered my favourite colours are actually orange and blue. I have the lovliest, prettiest cups in orange and darkest blue that I bought from T2. I should have tea out here, with my pretty cups. That's another thing I'm doing, not putting away my cups for sunday best. Besides, it's sunday. And the tea I bought from Whittards arrived via the post (at last).
Oh dear, the sun is creeping up the back stairs, I'll son have to decamp. Siesta? Probably. I was up late last night (naughty!) watching Mr Armitage in Strike Back. Very much the stort of thing Sean was doing in the 90s, but apparently j'adore Mr Armitage because the jetlag didn't kick in (until now). I couldn't believe Egg was evil though. Not Egg!
Anyways, all very boys own, but watchable all the same, mainly cause I was just drooling over Mr Armitage. Shallow, yes, but shallow is fun.
Ah, Hoppy, my one legged noisy miner. Hungry again? Scusi, I must attend (or he'll poop on my sheets, if he hasn't already).
Oh, still haven't heard from Japan but I'll assume the best until told otherwise.
Caravaggio exhibition gives fresh insight into painter's technique
Almost Superman, Matt Bomer takes the high road in USA's 'White Collar' (Interview)