i’ve had a fairly slow week anyway. i painted up some foundation skirting boards to put around the other sleepout but never got around to nailing them on. i had a few other things i wanted to do. last year i pruned a cabbage tree and planted the pruned branches in the ground to see if they would grow, like a willow tree would, with willows you can chop a branch off and smack it into the ground and it’ll grow. i spent a few hours clearing out the general area where they are but it doesn’t seem like you can do the same thing with cabbage trees. they’re dead. they’re long dead.
whatever day that was, i saw the old bugger that morning sitting in a utv and parked up with a bunch of other old buggers and instead of wandering over i just waved and kept going. i had things i wanted to do and listening to a 3 hour story from 47 years ago wasn’t one of them. ah, it was friday. he rang that night to say that was him in the utv, he’d sold one of his motorbikes and bought the utv and i had to go check it out the next day. i was going to visit on saturday anyway, i wanted to rotor till again and plant some spuds. i say “plant some spuds” as if it’s as simple as that but really it’s a mind boggling amount of joy and i don’t know if i can describe it properly so i won’t even try. even better, i was there by myself so it was just me and the spuds. and no old bugger there shouting at me that i’m digging the hole wrong, as if there is a right or wrong way to dig a hole? c’mon man, you’re ruining the moment for me. so, as i said. just me and the spuds. bliss. indescribable amounts of joy. okay, before this gets weird i love potatoes and always think it’s amazing that you can dig a hole, throw a spud in there and bury it then a few months later it’ll turn into even more potatoes. how is that not magic? it is magic. but writing that somehow does take away the magic. right, fine, whatever. i’m never talking about this again.
i have an infusion tomorrow. it’s going to be a long day. i have a bunch of stuff i want to pick up afterwards and then i have to take peter’s car back into town before peter finishes work to drop it off at a mechanic. peter hit a hare a few weeks back and it cracked the front bumper. i just have to remember to change the radio station before i get there since i’m apparently the only one who finds it funny to… okay so the car’s lowered, has big wheels and a carbon fibre roof so whatever music you’d expect to hear coming from it probably isn’t some 80s song about a white winged dove.
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