Ah Phoenix, and there was I thinking blackbirds 
. DH was out yesterday ( after The Wedding) power washing the drive,with his new toy. He was a sight for sore eyes in his disposable overalls, crocs, with the obligatory socks, wide brimmed sun hat and safety goggles. (You can never be too careful). Mind you, for a trainee power washer, he did a fair job. Now, all I've got to do is wash the front door, the garage door, my flower pots, and the poor muddy plants in the border. Still, it kept himself happy for a couple of hours.
Ah, Summer, it feels like it's finally here!
Looking forward to sitting in the garden, with a glass of something, 
(if it's fizzy, Mr P refers to it as a "glass of something restorative" 
) listening to the sounds that only this time of the year seem to bring.
The gentle buzz of the bees as they forage for nectar among the flowers, the ewes in the field at the bottom of the garden, calling to their wayward lambs, even the monotonous call of the collared doves, almost drowning out the melodious songs of the other garden birds. Sometimes even the quintessentially English sound of leather on willow.
But instead, what do we get?
Power washers, power tools, lawnmowers and the worst of all, bloody strimmers!
I know that we have to make the most of good weather, to get those jobs done that just can't be achieved when it's raining, but on some days it seems relentless.
I have a particular hatred of strimmers, probably because knobheadmy ex husband liked to do the whole of the paddock with a strimmer, rather than a mower. (Stripped to the waist of course, I think he saw himself as a modern day Ross Poldark, but with an updated version of a scythe!)
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