In the garden

You might be forgiven for thinking that all I have done in the past few weeks is read, given that that’s all I’ve blogged about recently.

Well, it’s not true; I’ve also done this:

Finished off building the raised veggie patch my husband started building a few months ago…

Ordered five tonnes of topsoil and compost…

Spent two days moving said five tonnes of soil from the front of the house…

To the raised bed.

And planted lots of seedlings.

From front to back: leeks, onions, celery, cauliflower (“The only flowers worth having in your garden are cauliflowers,” said my grandad. I don’t agree, but it made me smile thinking of him as I planted them), and spring onions. I foresee a lot of soup and cauliflower cheese in our future…

Moving that soil was very hard work. Very hard work. I’m not quite sure why I decided to move it all myself, rather than wait until the weekend when my husband would be back, but I think it was partly the desire to just get this garden finished at last, partly because I knew I’d be dead chuffed if I managed to get it done myself, and partly because I didn’t think it would hurt future, ummmm, negotiations with my husband if I could say, “I moved five tonnes of soil all by myself, and you can’t even be bothered to pick up your bloody socks?” Especially as my, “I moved halfway round the world for you, and you can’t even be bothered to ….” line is wearing a bit thin after 18 months.  (I haven’t had to use the soil line, yet. In fact, my husband cleaned the kitchen on Sunday while I was still in bed, and then I came back from the DIY shop on Sunday to find him hoovering the sitting room. I almost fainted with shock.  This is not usual behaviour.)

I’ve also been doing some other DIY, but I’ll blog about that another day.