The temperature is hot.
Lets do some gardening. (I know, not quite as exciting as it first sounded)
The people who previously owned our house had a weird fetish for kerb stone bordering.
I know we all have fetishes, but, kerbstones-really???
I literally have pavement kerb stones borders all around my garden. I tell you, ‘The concrete jungle’ ain’t got nothing on this plot of ground.
We attack them at first light with all the power of a randy bison.
With spades in hand, I start hanging off my spade, lets face it if my vast bulk can’t shift them, they’re here for keeps.
My mother having already suggested we keep them as a feature.
If the look I was going for was ‘ring road city centre’, with that feature I’d be on to a winner.
It’s no good, they will not be moved.
I see my hubby looking around for some inspiration, these kerbstones are no match for ‘King Kong’ over there.
He stops, and I see his eyes light up at the sight of two cannonballs sitting in the garden.
He picks one up, and then without warning , starts lobbing it at the kerbstones, like Zola Bud on acid.
What the fuck is he doing, the neighbours are going to think he’s escaped for the local mental asylum.
I look at him, a grin on his face, clearly he’s enjoying himself, a little too much.
Hubby: ” Look its working, there be smashed up in no time ” What, before the men in white suits cart you away.
Wife: ” I’ll go in, as you seem to have it covered out here”
Hubby: ” Can you just stay out and help me pick the bits up” I don’t fucking think so matey, all the time your practising your prehistoric bowling, I’m keeping well out-of-the-way.
Mental note: If husband declares his hammer isn’t big enough, he ain’t talking about his love hammer. Back away quick, and stay indoors.