I'm broken...

So after Saturday's celebrations, Sunday took a more sinister turn.

The husband, who makes procrastination an art form, finally agreed that if the vegetable seedlings I'd been nurturing weren't planted out yesterday, then we might as well lock up our allotment and have a year off from it.  Now attractive as this may seem at 8.00am on a Sunday morning, I'm not too good at quitting at anything which I have started, so we hauled our sorry carcasses over to the allotment armed with everything we needed.

Within ten minutes of arriving at the patch of dirt, the husband had broken both the strimmer and the rotivator.  The sky was not the only thing which was a  beautiful shade of blue for the next half an hour, as the husband relegated the strimmer to the shed, and changed the fan belt on the rotivator.

Once that was all done, it was all steam ahead for weed pulling, stone removal, planting and watering, and by 2.00 we were done.  Literally.  I had managed to rake my left leg, so had what looked like a shark bite on my shin, and two impressive bruises were colouring up quite nicely where I had hit some bolts which stood out on the raised bed.  The husband was covered in nettle stings (apparently, 'real' men don't wear gardening gloves) and had burnt the top of his head having forgotten to put his hat back on again after we stopped for a cup of tea.

But everything is now in, and every evening going forward will see me schlepping over there to water the plants.  And here's another thing, the hosepipe attachment broke over the winter, and now does a passable impression of a Crazy Daisy.  This meant that when we walked back from the allotment yesterday, both of us were soaked.

I never have this problem when buying my vegetables in Tesco...