A weekend of work hard, play hard

Because, at long last, this year’s got Spring in its step, it is potato and onion planting time at the allotment!

And Saturday’s job list was quick to say, ergo quick to do:

Renew 2 plot-surrounds with Shaun’s fancy only-need-to-screw-together woodwork skills.

Decant 3 compost bins over 6 plots.

Plant onions in 4 plots, and potatoes in 6.

Water said plantings.

Sit back and relax.

We arrived early and cracked to it.

(I’m the bear ‘coz I’m the cutest, but then Shaun’s the bear ‘coz he’s the grizzliest — take your pick.)

After 5-hours:

New allotment neighbours met.

2 plot-surrounds renewed.

3 compost bins decanted.

1 plot destoned.

2 plots of planted onions (we ran out).

Onions watered.

Backs cricked.

There remains a bit on the ‘To Do’, namely potatoes.

And the well learnt lesson retaught: Just because you can say it quick doesn’t mean you can do it quick, and that’s true for most things.

Once home, it was time to get ready to go out (pretty much).

I hit the tunes and hit the cider, and arrived an hour late at Jackie’s. She’d made her cocktail and that got us talking. We were intending to show Tanya (her sister) what a night out in Portsmouth was like, and it’s a lot like Jackie’s living room.

We got out-out late and ended up in ‘Spoons where they sell Hooch.

HOOCH!

I love Hooch!

It turns out, so did this brunette I caught swigging from my bottle. I was aghast — I watched her sidle on up to the table where it was sat (I was nearby), reach over, and take a sip!

Well, I walked up to her and watched her do it plainly, and she says:

“Oh, is this yours?”

I said, “Well done.”

“I do like Hooch.”

“I can see.”

“Should I buy you another one?”

I said, “No, it’s fine — it was only a sip and you look clean.”

The truth of the matter was, I didn’t trust her — first off, how clean does clean look? And second, she’d be drinking out my bottle on her way back from the bar so I’d have to go with her and I couldn’t be arsed with that.

A short while later, I got around a bit. I bumped into Gemma, who I see hardly enough. I got complimenting this lady with short orange hair, it looked really good. It turns out she’d been worried about it and I was like, “Honey — you keep it. We wouldn’t be speaking if it was shit.”

I then compliment this other lady who looked at me like I was a stinking turd.

After a little dance, we headed to Kingsley’s (this sort-of nightclub place) but the queue was long so we got a kebab.

On Sunday, I thought I had a good enough excuse to do nothing.


Tomos James