Mr Shoestring Does Gardening

This weekend we had to take yet more furniture to Shoestring Cottage.  When The Firstborn departed our shores she entrusted us with the care of much of her furniture - hence the overflow from our apartment travelling to Shoestring.  On the way we called in at Bobbie's place and collected a door she was keen to be rid of, plus two miscellaneous concrete posts.  This door is a little bit grand for Shoestring Cottage and we are not sure whether to put it at the front or back door of the house, but it was free after all and we at Shoestring never look a gift horse in the mouth.  What do you think?

Once the trailer was unloaded the cottage looked like a furniture storage depot.  If you visit us in the near future you will be able to inspect our library/dining room/sitting room.  Not that there is room in there for more than one person at a time, and even then there is a lot of sideways turning in order to be able to negotiate in and out.

So it was very good that the weather was (finally) so balmy and spring-like on Sunday.  I was keen to spend the day gardening, and not only in order to escape the infestation of furniture indoors.  Happily I hung out washing and then proceeded onto the weeding and planting.  Of course this was all the encouragement Mr Shoestring needed.  He immediately fired up the incinerator and started flinging accelerant around, causing flames to soar skywards and the neighbours to cast fierce glares in our direction.  (Actually when I speak of the "incinerator", it was actually purchased as a chiminiere.  I imagined cosy evenings with close friends clustered around the chiminiere, it all seemed so pleasant and civilised.  I failed to take into account Mr Shoestring's fondness for all things incendiary.  When we had a lifestyle block he actually purchased a device which was a glorified flame thrower for destroying weeds.)  Wanting to escape from the flames of the impromptu burn off I set about laying some bricks around a new area of garden.  Mr Shoestring's face immediately appeared at the kitchen window, demanding to know what I was doing.  When I told him of my plans he explained, "Well, why don't you use the concrete post, then it will be done with, won't it?"  I thought it would be "done with" by using the bricks but apparently not.  I didn't have the heart to turn down the offer of the concrete post, so weakly agreed to the plan.

Now I would have to describe Mr Shoestring’s garden style as being dramatic.  By this I do not mean that he likes to create dramatic vistas or plantings in the garden.  I mean that he likes drama, and plenty of it.  Every session must be accompanied by as much noise and chaos as possible, there usually is an injury, and there should be plenty of power tools in use.  Even his choice of words suggests action and drama.  Yesterday when he discovered (of course) that he needed to cut up his concrete posts with a power tool accessory likely never to be used again, he had to “shoot down the road” to purchase it, never mind walking or driving there.  For this reason we are not 100% compatible in the garden, I prefer to spend my gardening sessions in quiet contemplation and try to sneak into the garden without arousing Mr Shoestring’s interest.  That way I can spend hours happily arranging bricks to my liking rather than being forced to listen to concrete posts being hacked to pieces in the interests of more efficient achievement of the end result.