It is Tuesday the 16th of February. It is a calm day. There is no wind, no sun and no rain. Unless of corse you count my mother, who is attacking the gutters with a power washer, as rain. Two days ago she decided that we can’t wollow any longer! For her, the opposite of wollowing involves hacking away at the forest of overgrown shrubs in the front garden. So, every morning I grab the broken garden fork, the clippers, my sturdy garden gloves and our rusty wheelbarrow (which is in fact so rusty that it has a hole in the bottom of it). Then I stare at our version of the ‘forbidden forest’ from Harry Potter wondering where on earth I'm supposed to start...
I'm pretty sure I would be working more efficiently on the garden if I actually cared about my house and its appearance. For years it has been a kip. It was always ‘under renovation’ or being ‘done up’ as my father put it, to anyone who dared to walk through it. It has been in this state since I was 2 years old. I think it’s time to stop telling people it’s under renovation and start telling people that it’s just a kip. And it is just a kip. When I think about it, my house could be a lovely, warm and homely cottage. It needs to be loved, and I, well I really just don’t care enough to make that happen .
Most teenagers are always being nagged about cleaning their rooms. You should see mine. I'm sitting in it right now. Stuff EVERYWHERE. You can barely walk in it! Books piled up in random places, shoes strewn everywhere. A mountain of clothes in front of my wardrobe and I go to sleep every night surrounded by pillows and cushions with no covers on them. My room would be a dream for Kim and Aggie. They could make a whole new show with it, ‘Kim and Aggie’s dormitory disasters!’. Perhaps it would make me money. Ask any of my friends, some of whom I've been friends with for a few years now, and they will tell you that even they haven't been in my room before. I suppose I should be glad I can’t have sleepovers in my house. And yeah I probably should be ashamed of myself for letting it get so bad but as you can probably tell by now, the main theme of this entry is of me not caring.
Now as I write this, my mother has walked back inside the house, looking as if she has just walked through a tornado rather than the front door. Her jumper looks like it’s just been put through a wash and her trousers resemble a fisherman’s after he’s been out to fetch his daily catch. Thankfully I have just made dinner so she can warm herself up. She is some picture of persistence. The woman will do anything if she can find enough cause in her head to do it. I gave up a few hours ago and decided I was going to make dinner and write this. But I do have to admit that the front garden does look a fraction better now. At least when my friends drop me home I won’t be getting out of the car only to fall into a thorny hedge.
Oh and for all you green fingered people out there, I, today, have renamed a plant. The cause of so many scrapes while walking through my garden has been caused by this plant called the ‘Wild Rose Bush’. Since I have started to cut it back, it has cut me too many times than I can remember. Strangely though, the only place it can find to cut me is on the insides and back of my wrists. Now I assume this is because that’s where my gloves end and my jumper begins, but either way, its still hacking at my wrists! Therefore, the ‘Wild Rose Bush’ has now been renamed the ‘Emo Black Abyss Bush’. Very suiting don’t you think?
It is Tuesday the 16th of February, but it isn’t just any old Tuesday... its pancake Tuesday! Although I think pancake Tuesday is a day used as an excuse to get fat, I suppose I must mark it all the same... so tonight I am off to a pancake party at a friends... I can feel the pounds heaping on already! But that might just be the fact that I made too much mash potato for dinner today...
Anyway, have a great fat day!
(no seriously in French, pancake Tuesday , ‘Mardi Gras’, litrally means fat Tuesday! The French copped on far earlier than the rest of the world did!)
No comments:
Post a Comment