Days of dry heat whilst I was office-bound have been followed by heavy rains over this bank holiday. Not to be deterred, my partner and I paid our first visit to Homebase today (well, we have only just decided that we like gardening after all). We bought some secateurs, some pet-friendly weedkiller (I am wondering if it would work on Peaches? He is a weed.), some paints for decorating a stone plaque we were given at Christmas and some glue (for mending my partner's walking boots). We wanted a hose-pipe connector as well, but they didn't have the one we needed. All in all, however, 'twas a most satisfying visit.
Your author with his Spring tubs
The sunshine experienced previously also aided in stimulating my mind to great ideas. As my partner and I walked one evening, a car sped past on the road beside us. I was transfixed - the car had no roof! It all looked such fun. I love to feel the speeding wind in my ears on car journeys and imagined how much better that sensation would be if I could ride in a car with the roof down. I instantly turned my mind to plans for the "customisation" of my New Teal Megane. In the wee small hours of the next morning, it came to me at last.
It was a stunningly simple idea. There were at least four chainsaws at my partner's place of work. I was sure that, between us, Ewan, Fizzy and I could manage one of them and control it enough to cut off the roof of my car. What could be easier?!
Alas - I hit my first obstacle just a few hours later. Ewan and Fizzy were on holiday all week. Poo. The next setback presented itself when I found that all the power-tools were securely stored in a padlocked metal cupboard. Double poo. I gave thought to gnawing my way through the cupboard, but feared for the stability of my teeth in such an endeavour. Time to implement Plan B.
On arriving home that evening, I had a careful look around the kitchen, trying to avoid my partner's notice. She was already suspicious, having witnessed my earlier keenness on seeing the roofless vehicle as well as my repeated evaluations of the roof of the Megane and my trips to the tool-cupboard whilst at work. Sniffing out my intended quarry in a kitchen drawer, I quietly took it up in my mouth and escaped outside with my prize.
I fiddled with the catch on the gate and carried my tool - a tin-opener - out to the car. I stood beside the vehicle, trying to decide whether it would be better to commence operations at the front or the rear.
My partner's shout startled me to such an extent that I spat out the tin-opener and tried to look innocent as it clattered onto the ground.
"What, in the name of sanity, are you doing?!"
"Erm..." I replied, taking up the tin-opener once more and carrying it to her. "Er... I thought I'd help you out by um... opening the tin with my supper in it."
"Kind of you." said my partner, with a raised, disbelieving, eyebrow, "But, as you know, your tins have a ring-pull top. So what are you playing at?"
How is it? How? How is it that they always know when you're up to something? As my partner took the tin-opener from me, I sheepishly explained my plan. She was sympathetic and said that one day, perhaps, we might have a car with a roof we could put up and take down - but we'd have to make do with what we had for now.
Bah! Foiled again!