Grooooan. Serious dose of Sunday head, facilitated by alcoholic misbehaviour on Friday. Lately, though, C and I seem to be finding a routine where we both end up doing as little as possible over the weekend. That, tied into the poor excuse of a summer, means the garden looks like a bombsite, and I’m never in the mood to do anything about it. Still, the spuds and onions coming out of it are tasty, so I shouldn’t gripe too much.
Sunday afternoon. Soft rain outside. Up to my eyeballs in tea. Traffic’s Mr Fantasy on the stereo. It’s gonna have to be the Small Faces next. Lazy English psychedelia for a lazy English day.
One Of Those Days
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EXCUSES AND HALF TRUTHS 
Get out in that inclement mizzle and discover the PH balance of the soggy soil that awaits you in yonder back garden – wouldn’t it be freaky if it was the same PH as your blood? I think that once you have familiarised yourself with the intimacies of your earth there will be more than onions and spuds sprouting from your sunday brainfartz!
Carol – the ultimate decepticon!
The soil was boringly neutral the last time I tested it!
The blood of the gardener remains a mystery.