Scooby Doobie Doo

I saw some of a Scooby Doo movie on TV a couple of months ago and remember thinking at the time "why the fuck does anyone watch cartoons? It's all so unreal".

I guess that makes me a realist.

Yesterday I felt it was all pretty real, cos in the morning I felt at least 7.5 million bucks and so I weeded the side of the driveway and out in the front entrance in a light drizzle, but unusually for me, I ran out of puff before I started cleaning up and left some of the mess in a pile to move later, and like hot, sweaty, dirty bitches everywhere I crawled naked into a cold shower and cleaned my act up.

Like any good scrubber does, yeah?

And then I felt ok again so I raked some crap out from under the plum tree as well. Just one big pile.

And after that I had a snooze. And another snooze. Then I fell asleep in my chair, so I had a snooze after that and when I woke up I realised that as fabulous as I felt in the morning, I now felt as dreadful in the evening. And I hadn't felt that good in at least a year. Way more than a year.

I'm really not impressed. Bloody great blouse. Hell, all I wanted to do was get a bit of gardening and exercise in and sort out my outdoors shit.

This is the arbor now and my grape vine is really pumping



and this is my little piece of artistic expression for the week - my bromiliad board, or plant plank. Or an excuse to bang a few nails into something...



Ian said "er, why?"; I said "because it amuses me, dumbass". I don't think he'll do that again.