241. I’m all set for the summer now.

 Here it is at last:

There’s a shed at the side but it’s hard to get the new lounger in. It’s got pebbles round the edges and Alan is coming one day soon, cos they did site it about 2ft to the left  and 1ft further back than I’d requested. He’s going to lop off the side of the hedge, just to get a bit of manoeuvre-room when it’s ‘painted’ some time. 

Surprisingly, I must be the only person whose not yet been in. Dennis and Clive manoeuvred the futon in. I gather it’s very comfortable, with loads of cushions. Three of the front panels of The Shed fold over on each other to fully open and the end panel folds back so we can get a full breeze so long as the planter doesn’t mind moving. Next we have to get the painting Trina did for it up.

So I guess we could call this a grand opening and, if I have a visitor and it’s windy, we’ll be cosy inside with a couple of doors open. I don’t care what Bouncy Bloody Boris says, I’m taking no risks til I understand my immunity. Marilyn asked to come over, as did Kiera, so obviously Clive would be coming. Marilyn drives less and less. But despite having nothing in common, Dennis and Clive get on well. Clive is a DIYer, as is Alan. We were just tucking into birthday cake, when Alan and Kay arrived with a “We’re not staying” and two delicious apple crumbles. They went to see The Shed and stayed half an hour. Meanwhile both Kira and Clive were eying a box I’ve never seen. It didn’t take much begging before I agreed they could set my new sun bed up. Everyone left very happy and I really had no idea of what was going on.

Sadly a week off wasn’t long enough. I was still woolly headed, wobbly and fatigued added to incomprehensibly constipated. For a drug that causes severe diarrhoea, it’s not helping, I’ll have to resort to taking DulcoEase, the weaker ones don’t scare me so much. So all I’ve done is watch Wimbledon and reminisce about my birthday treat of taking a few friends there and how we used to stand at the centre court aisles waiting for the leavers to hand over their tickets - it was a simple act of generosity then, not some convoluted exchange as it seems to be now. Then we poor deprived schoolgirls got Centre Court tickets for nothing and watched till light stopped play. And argued over our crushes. Mine was Bill Bowery, an Australian with dark hair and legs up to his armpits; Sheila’s was Roger Taylor, much less complicated. I caught sight of him yesterday, He still plays at Wimbledon every morning at 75.

Roger Taylor,  And here’s Bill Bowrey. I always like long legs. Which is why I married Dennis whose legs are like Burt Reynolds, who claimed someone had stolen his long legs!

Nostalgia. Tomorrow I shall utilise The Shed. By utilise I mean flop on the futon and possibly read a book. I have to decide whether to paint it the same colour as the green fence around it to leave it the same colour and just varnish. I am most fortunate to have friends who love DOING, so long as they remember.