Tuesday

Hi there, I'm just having a coffee before I get in the bath, I feel totally tired after another day of rehearsing and other arbitrary things that one must do in order to exist in a civilised fashion. Some strange person left a silly remark about my last blog- what was the object in doing that as obviously I'm not going to approve it on my page? It looks like they even took the trouble to create a foolish sounding email account to send it from, why go to such lengths? Which leads me to the next question , why am I even bothering to write about it? I guess human nature makes me curious at times.
I have taken on the precarious task of trimming the row of conifers that we have in the garden. Most evenings you will see me balancing treacherously on the ladders, armed with all the necessary tools, arms and neck aching from looking upwards, trying to reach those elusive branches. We didn't want anyone else to come and do it because lots of birds build their nests in there and we didn't want them frightened by some callous workman . Had we known it was going to be such a mammoth task, we might have reconsidered. The problem with being a perfectionist is that now I won't be happy until it all looks neat and tidy. It will probably take so long that the first bits I trimmed will have grown back by the time I've finished the last ones. I'll be in a continuous cycle and develop the thick arms and neck of a body builder.