A QUIET SUNDAY MORNING

Hello dear reader and welcome to another Sunday at Chez Comb. In fact we are only half way through the day and I want to go and lie down in a darkened room already, or possibly leave home, as once again I am in the doghouse with spouse and a release date does not loom on the horizon any time soon. At the time of writing, the Sabbath day peace and tranquility does not reign in the house. Spouse is more than a tad put out.

   At the start of the morning spouse was just being spouse. 'Nothing wrong with that', I hear you say and in some respects this is true. We had attended an early church service with a view to spending the day in our garden, continuing with our wrecking spree. Once again this week, the weather has been beautiful, but spouse has been away on his Good Samaritan work, transporting folk to hospital appointments and thus has not been able to get out and about in his pastures.

   Thus it was that come Sunday morning he was ready and raring to go. Out came the chainsaw. I know, I can feel you wincing even as I type the word. When I see that beast come out of the shed, (the chainsaw not spouse), I take myself off. I realise my thinking is a little illogical,  but if he is going to saw his leg off I don't want to be there to see it, on the other hand maybe I need to be nearby with a tourniquet to hand - just in case. 

   Anyway, out came the chainsaw and spouse set about finishing off old tree stumps. I retired to a safe distance away, flattening  the areas either side of our new steps up to the summer sitting room, so that I can park some of my pots there. I know, trivia, trivia. Never mind all that, who wants to know about a woman and a spade. What is happening with spouse let loose with a chainsaw? Well not a lot as it turned out. He didn't get very far with it, as he realised the chain was a bit loose and he and saw returned to the meg-shed for a little  first aid on the chain.

   As told to me, he got the tool out to tighten the chain and then saw that there was quite a lot of dirt attached to the inside of the chain. Wanting to keep his saw in tip-top condition, he set about teasing out the muck. All went well. One side was duly cleaned and so he turned the saw over to clean the other. Ah, but - here the thrifty Yorkshireman came unstuck.  The chainsaw was missing the cap that fitted over the little oil tank. Spouse had made a temporary stopper for it, but when he turned the saw over the stopper fell out, got squashed underneath the saw and out came all the oil. It being Sunday, the DIY store in town was closed, so that put an end to his chainsaw activities for the day.

   However, spouse was in tree stump removal mode and was not easily deterred. Out came the executioner-sized axe and he set about the stumps once again. All my domestic goddess activities in the culinary department definitely paid off as spouse gave the stumps very short shrift and he was soon standing triumphantly in the middle of the garden, waving a tree stump in each hand. With his bare torso blackened with oil and muck and waving what looked very like a couple of shrunken human heads about,  I hurried to his side to take them off him. Really, he only needed a few fancy stripes painting on his cheeks and chest and he could be anywhere but England.

   Satisfied with his handiwork, spouse turned his attention to our old and now defunct pond. Full of boulders and dead and tangled reeds it is an unlovely sight. We are going to fill it in and build a new pond elsewhere. I had begun the task of digging out some of the old reeds earlier in the week. Not a pleasant task as the water is black, rank and extremely malodorous, but I made a good effort and spouse was ready to continue the work.

   He donned his wellington boots and made his way into the pond, spade in hand. I admit he made a fair job of it and a lot of the reeds were despatched around the edges of the pond during the rest of the morning. But a woman, bless her little heart, likes a tidy job and when she came to inspect some long time later, pointed out to spouse that he had missed quite a few bunches here and there.

   Spouse rolled his eyes and said they were a bit difficult to reach and I robustly rejoined, 'nonsense, you've got a long reach. Put you're back into it and finish the job.'  And that's why I'm now in the doghouse and poor spouse is in the shower. If he was a bit mucky before he went into the pond, he was a darned sight blacker when he came out - after losing his footing and falling right in, in pursuit of those last elusive reeds I mentioned. Oh my, he went down with quite a splash and came out speechless with rage and pondweed. I think the gist of his words were 'why couldn't you leave well alone', (to me) but he put matters a great deal more forcefully than that.

   I know from my own experience of cleaning myself off after wading in my wellies in the pond, just how much oily muck adheres to skin and bone. Poor spouse, he could well still be black and blue when he comes out of the shower, but hopefully, will smell a little sweeter than when he went in.

   Meanwhile my dear reader, I will lurk in my doghouse this afternoon and hope I will be forgiven before sundown. A glass of chilled white and his favourite dinner may secure my release. I'm off to my domestic goddess duties right now. See you next week, I hope,  unless he's buried me in the pond before then.