So what’s been happening since I last blogged? Well …I’ve had a birthday, not that I honestly take much notice of birthdays now. I guess I should really, you know, celebrate another year on the clock, and the fact that I’ve actually made it through another year without being imprisoned for murdering Richard.
Yes, I know certain followers of this blog love him, Malla for one, but then you guys and gals don’t live with him …though, I like to think that he lives with me.
Would you love him so much if he celebrated your birthdays how he celebrates mine?
As I opened my eyes on my birthday morning he appeared like the genie of the lamp at the side of the bed with a mug of tea and an envelope.
‘Thought you might like to open your card up here?’ he said, handing it to me. ‘I think you’ll like it, this year.’
Did you catch the two words that he’d added on there? “This year.” Richard’s cards are crap – basically.
Knowing that I wouldn’t like the card I forced a smile and opened it. Blinding me, on the front of the card, were the 2 numerals declaring my age and a stupid heading saying, ‘Even though you are (the 2 numerals) you are still cool. The picture was of an ancient being, wizened and bent, dressed in a jogging suit and a pink headband hobbling down the road. I placed the card on the bed and looked at Richard.
He left the tea and disappeared mumbling something about him having thought it was a really nice card but obviously he’d got it wrong AGAIN!
If he could be as good at getting things wrong as he is at getting things right he would be the perfect man. More was to come.
Set out on the long kitchen table was a birthday cake and a very pretty gift bag. I refrained from letting my optimism soar because, as I say, I know Richard. I sat down and he gently pushed the bag across the table. It looked rather full. Could I have got it wrong at last? Could he have got it right?
I slipped my hand into the bag and my fingers wound around a large, shiny object. I secured it tightly in my hand, because it was quite heavy, and lifted it from the pretty bag …and stared …and then glanced at Richard …and then stared some more.
‘Slug pellets? These are slug pellets!’
‘Yeah, I know,’ he said. ‘I know they aren’t really a birthday present …but I know you said you needed some.’
I opened the other item in the bag and that was a pretty chicken ornament thing for the kitchen windowsill. It was OK, nice in fact, because I’d seen it in a garden centre a few weeks ago and remarked on it.
Later, when my son and grand kiddies came over with their little gifts, all of which I loved, Jake (7) asked, ‘Grandma, why have you got slug pellets for your birthday?’
I really didn’t want to say, ‘Because Granddad is a thoughtless idiot.’ and ruin Jake’s extremely high opinion of a really fun granddad …so I didn’t.
The following day I journeyed up the garden and lovingly scattered the slug pellets around my netted-off spring cabbage babies. If anyone tries to tell you that slugs hibernate don’t you believe it. The little sods still risk the wet and cold to munch on next year’s potential harvest.
The garden is almost sleeping now and the chucks are in their element, having been allowed up into the vegetable garden bit. The ground is covered with apple tree leaves and birch leaves and many other types of leaves and the chucks love scratching through the drifted heaps, exposing the last little surviving bugs of the summer. The sound they make as they rustle the drying leaves is like music to my ears – but then, as we all know, I’m weird.
But possibly not quite as weird as someone who purchases slug pellets for the love of his life’s birthday?
Take care my lovelies x