Moping is defeated by silliness

Beloved has been in the garden all day

Beloved is continuing his desperate obsession with turning our garden into some kind of allotment. It keeps him out of my hair – though it does keep an annoying amount of mud everywhere.

For some reason this quaint little hobby requires him to cover the patio in blue plastic barrels that he scavenged from somewhere. He has also created what he calls “polytunnels” but which I call sheets of manky plastic loosely connected to a wire frame work he cannibalised from somewhere. It has the added bonus of being poorly secured so the slightest breeze sends yards of plastic flapping all over the place.

Also, worried about the birds devastating what he rather optimistically refers to as his crops, he has decided to create a ”scarecrow” of a high visibility jacket mounted on an old broom handle.

All in all, our house is achieving a perfect “inhabited by squatters” look that I’m sure I’ll learn to treasure. All he needs now is an old stained mattress discarded in one corner and a broken down sofa in another, maybe a rusted out hulk of a car or caravan on the drive and the look will be completed. I’m sure it makes a powerful statement.

Powerful, but not quite as vehement as the one I intend to make. Probably with a blunt instrument.

Also, I spent half the afternoon hunting down cookie dough that I made up and can’t seem to find… now what what what could possibly happen to a mound of chocolate chip cookie dough? I do wonder, yes I do. hmmm…

Sparky: are you eating raw cookie dough?

Beloved: *mouth full* don’t be silly, of course I aren’t.

Sparky: REALLY?

Beloved: ‘es *nom nom nom*

Sparky: what’s in the bowl then?

Beloved: Ice cream.

Sparky: Ice cream…

Beloved: Yes.

Sparky: What KIND of ice cream?

Beloved: Toffee

Sparky: With?

Beloved: wafers

Sparky: And?

Beloved: Cookie dough   Want some?

Sparky: You’re going to ruin your dinner…

Beloved: AHA! It is official, you have turned into your parents!

Sparky: Gah, I’m too young to be a father – and you’re far too damn old to be my son. Besides, it’d be incest.

Beloved: Well I’m a grown up and I get to eat ice cream and cookie dough for dinner if I want to! So there!

Sparky: *waits*

Beloved: what?

Sparky: Aren’t you supposed to stomp out the room and slam the door?

Beloved: Damn, knew I forgot something *stomps out the living room* will this door do?

Sparky: Nope, gotta be a bedroom door.

Beloved: I’m not going upstairs, I’m going to sit on the sofa and scowl moodily into space declaring you don’t understand me instead.

Sparky: *pats him*

I’m going back into the kitchen and makiung cookies. And they will be MY cookies. And I will eat them all myself. yes yes I will