Up at 4.45am...just so I could miss the traffic into London. I had a training day with QVC. The M4 behaved itself and I had time for tea, muffin and a gawp at Uri Gellar who just happened to be on the table next to me in the cafe. Good job I only had a plastic spoon for stirring. Could have been a catastrophe.
Got home late to a very humid garden, retired to hammock and then watered.
Stared at the two roses I still haven’t planted. Tomorrow I shall get the spade out.
Supper was a very complicated jacket potato with tuna. When I say complicated, I really mean it.
Whenever I open a can of tuna I have to sing opera very loudly. This isn’t an OCD issue or anything, just a necessity. If Honey hears the turn of a tin opener, she knows it’s going to be tuna. If she knows it’s going to be tuna I have a fight on my hands, a battle of wills and usually a cat attached to my leg.
So, using stealth tactics the SAS would be proud of, I did a (rather good, if I say so myself) rendition of Ave Maria in time with each turn of the opener.
I then proceeded on tip toes to the fridge where I removed the mayonnaise, cucumber, red pepper and celery. Sidled to the sink where I drained the tuna and sang Pia Jesu as I rinsed out the tin.
I then piled the lot inside the potato and ate it sitting on top of the outside table, while Honey sloped around me like a stalking shark.
I have a feeling that she may be developing a love of opera.
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