....well, more ups.
Last Sunday saw the start of Stage 3 of the Tour de Yorkshire race in our unusually spic and span town and, despite wet and gloomy weather, people and dogs turned out along the route to cheer the participants. There was such a good atmosphere as we waited (our local bobbies demonstrated their more humorous side) and eventually the helicopter heralding the arrival of the cyclists hovered overhead. Like Christmas, they were no sooner here than they were gone ( I was so busy faffing with the camera and making sure I didn't fall off the kerb I didn't actually see anything) and heading daleswards whilst we toddled off to see if we could spot ourselves on the telly and to eat pizzas.
The weather picked up during the week and the garden beckoned. The plot at the back of the house and garage is far from ideal; it's small, oddly shaped, faces the wrong direction and you could throw pots with the soil (that reminds me, I need a new mug or two). There are far too many gaps (plants just seem to give up the ghost here), there's a permanent covering of twigs (I blame the buddleia which just might be enjoying it's last season) and leaves (I have no idea what to blame for this; at the moment a photinia is shedding its red foliage). But, as there are no plans for relocating, we're stuck with it so I'll continue the dig, plant, wail cycle and keep hoping for a transformation. At least the Japanese cherry in the front garden is happy and currently displaying peak blooming gorgeousness before the snow globe effect as the blossoms fall.
We don't use our garage for the purpose it was designed. Oh no, we like to fill it (and it's a big space) with rubbish. Actually, it's not all trash. My mum's peg basket complete with dolly pegs is in there, as is the wooden sledge the mister made many years ago and which seemed to spark a lengthy period of snow free winters, along with Aunty's sewing machine and the vacuum cleaner she bought and then promptly forgot about. As we were taking the garden table and chairs to the recycling centre one day, we took the opportunity to completely fill the car boot, amidst mutterings of the what the hell is that and I'm not looking inside there variety, with stuff from the garage. I'd have to say it doesn't look any less cluttered but it's a start and every little helps, as they say.
Yesterday, the Boy and I took ourselves off to London for no other reason than it seemed a very good idea. There was no plan either other than lunch in Ottolenghi (which, as always, was delicious but just how did they know that I was the vegan?) and it was a case of walking here and there, wherever the fancy took us. Posh chocolates and several other treats may have been purchased en route because the proceeds from an unexpected cheque through the letterbox were demanding to be spent and, anyway, why not. Whilst we were doing all that capital city wandering, news came through of our local football team's (the mister is a lifelong supporter) promotion to the big boys league (yep, they're finally going up) so, of course, we paused to celebrate with champagne mojitos.
Inside the house, the cleaning inspection progressed. The standards expected were high. I think we passed.