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My husband hauled me over the coals for nicking (stealing) the immature beans I told you about. Thousands of them in the seven-year bean plant, he said. You should have looked properly, he said. Thousands of them.

Well, I replied, as I had looked the day after he had looked THOROUGHLY, and (I presumed) they had not been related to Jack's giant beanstalk, I assured him that there were no beans to be had. He smiled, went a decided shade of red in the face and I knew that I was the one being had. Men!

Still, at least he has obviously forgiven me for my foray into the world of plumbing. In our house, if one goes to the loo (toilet), and, of course, flushes, as the cistern fills up, it screams. Thankfully it is down the other end of the hovel, but it is still unnerving, particularly to those of us with imaginations, unlike the dead log next to me, whose night-time perambulations can be done sleepwalking. So I decided to try and fix it. Had not the slightest idea. Surely, I thought, how hard, how complex could this be. The water started flooding out. I tried re-capping the doo-hickey that used to be affixed to the thingummy (technical terms), but it wouldn't screw back on. I even had trouble turning off the tap, and had to use my handkerchief to get a better grip. Yes, okay, the loo pot-plants did get a bit more water than normal (which is a testy subject, praise God they can't speak, I really should get just cacti), and I am so glad Brian woke up from his nap after my umpteenth attempt at subjugating the low seas. I don't think he was too chuffed, though. What gave me a clue to his outlook was the definite "Don't ever do this again" sermon. Repeated until I was well out of earshot (or grapeshot), perhaps repeated even then, but as I said, I was out of earshot. I didn't want to bother him, I thought I could fix it. After all, I had played around with the plumbing at numerous restaurants as a kid, mainly at the prompting of my (male) cousins. I now face the dubious reality of working out what I can fix. Do I even attempt to play with the daughter's building blocks? What if I am out in the middle of Woop-woop (Nowhere), and the car needs oil? Or water? I know what to do with those. What about fixing dinner? Should I fix a smile on my face? I am reading this to him, and he is not amused. He told me all I had to do was adjust the thing a little bit. "The 'thing'", I repeat sarcastically. Another technical term.

I have just read about using salt as weed-killer on paths. Personally, I would not recommend this, as if you have need of the earth later after re-modelling, it will be rendered dead by the salt. Invading armies used to do this in the old days pre-trench warfare. Not nice. Moss is wonderful to line hanging baskets or make miniature gardens, and virtually any other weed can either be composted or fed to an animal. Quite often with the roots and soil attached. To get rid of ants, boiling water (a few times), or mulch, as they hate having their light cut out apparently. This latter tip came from Barry Clugstone, one of our local naturalists, who is also a proponent of the talcum powder to get rid of the ants idea for the great indoors. I have used this very successfully over the years when being invaded by the little festers in our house. Spread it on their paths and around the objects of their desire.

All of the poems that I include are originals, and I am very grateful for the feedback. I am blessed to be able to write poetry very easily, and trust that you will continue to enjoy my slight efforts.

Lazy Daze

Dappled sunlight sends my heavy eyelids

Closer to each other

The clouds, scudding across the sky,

crowd out conscious thought

I take the time to lie on my lawn

back to my care free youth

and the smells of a flower-strewn garden

walk through my senses

and lull me to sleep.

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