I thought I'd mow our little back lawn this morning before the day became too hot. It's overcast and the temperature is 22 so it's already a bit muggy. Marilyn says I should leave it until Jamie comes but that's admitting defeat and I'm not ready to do that yet. Unfortunately, she has another weapon to ensure she gets her own way: before I even start, she's out there with her garden hat on and broom in hand, insisting she will help me. She knows that I will throw my hands up in disgust and all I can do is loudly remind her that she is too old to bend over like that and hope the neighbours hear.
Even when I've finished and put the mower away, she is still there fiddling around, picking up leaves. I think I know why old people live in flats: gardens are detrimental to any relationship.
We have a little square of concrete at the back door where we have a table and chairs. It's on the western side of the house and is not the best place to sit when the sun is going down. We've talked about a gazebo, or a sail or a pergola or something but haven't got around to doing anything - we've only been here four years, after all.
The bloke who has moved in next door has an identical set-up: square of concrete on the western side of the unit, However, he hasn't wasted time thinking about it. The other day, we noticed some movement on the other side of the fence and, peering over, we saw he had erected a tent over the concrete slab. It's one of those square marquee tents, about 2.4 metres square, you might see at a fete or market day, Unfortunately, it's bright blue and towers over the house. The word KINGS in big letters is emblazoned on the roof.
Well, we can scratch that off our list of options.
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