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the shark has pretty teeth dear
Sep. 21st, 2011 10:37 pmLife on the back porch. I'll just take out my cup of tea in my new vintage floral tea cup and my girly pink netbook and type very bad fan fic amongst the abundant jasmine and magnolia blossoms, what could be finer?
I wish. Aside from the usual heavy cottage industry going on (aka car rebirthing), one neighbour decided to noisily tear down his metal fence, with accompanying bangs, shouts and crashes, and all of this after an all night party of extreme wildness and drunken shoutiness (have hangovers, damn you, lord knows I have) and on the other side, one of the brats has been given a recorder to practice on. Of all the tortures devised by man, I swear, a recorder in the hands of a primary school child, it is the worst.
So, not as genteel or as romantic a morning as I might have hoped. It was also hitting the thirties (celsius), so when the sun started to climb the steps it became really uncomfortable, which is a pain because the back porch is also the only place I can get a decent interwebs connection (Himself calls the house a Faraday cage but I think it's just the weird 70s insulation which insulates only phone signals, it seems).
So I scurried into the meager shade to watch Mr Cumberbatch on the pvr. Or so I'd hoped. Cumberbatch the pvr killer. Well, it wasn't his fault, as the poor thing has been wheezing along for a while, it's the industrial dust in its innards plus use and abuse but there's nowt I can do about either, but still.
So it was back out into the back garden. You know you're in trouble when you watch the Seeds of Doom (still brilliant fun, btw) and think yes, I must tackle the back garden. Sadder still when it proves to be merely a pale dramatisation by comparison as one hacks and slashes one's way through the Lost Valley (beware of dinosaurs, giant insects and the like). Oh, you think I'm kidding. You wouldn't believe what a couple of week's neglect and warm, humid weather can wreak.
( more: Und Macheath, der hat ein Messer )
I wish. Aside from the usual heavy cottage industry going on (aka car rebirthing), one neighbour decided to noisily tear down his metal fence, with accompanying bangs, shouts and crashes, and all of this after an all night party of extreme wildness and drunken shoutiness (have hangovers, damn you, lord knows I have) and on the other side, one of the brats has been given a recorder to practice on. Of all the tortures devised by man, I swear, a recorder in the hands of a primary school child, it is the worst.
So, not as genteel or as romantic a morning as I might have hoped. It was also hitting the thirties (celsius), so when the sun started to climb the steps it became really uncomfortable, which is a pain because the back porch is also the only place I can get a decent interwebs connection (Himself calls the house a Faraday cage but I think it's just the weird 70s insulation which insulates only phone signals, it seems).
So I scurried into the meager shade to watch Mr Cumberbatch on the pvr. Or so I'd hoped. Cumberbatch the pvr killer. Well, it wasn't his fault, as the poor thing has been wheezing along for a while, it's the industrial dust in its innards plus use and abuse but there's nowt I can do about either, but still.
So it was back out into the back garden. You know you're in trouble when you watch the Seeds of Doom (still brilliant fun, btw) and think yes, I must tackle the back garden. Sadder still when it proves to be merely a pale dramatisation by comparison as one hacks and slashes one's way through the Lost Valley (beware of dinosaurs, giant insects and the like). Oh, you think I'm kidding. You wouldn't believe what a couple of week's neglect and warm, humid weather can wreak.
( more: Und Macheath, der hat ein Messer )
