This large group of hostas live underneath the parrotia, in relative anonymity and therefore relatively safe from mollusc attack. I say relatively because of course find they them eventually (unfortunately this is not a Disney film) and the inevitable lace work ensues. Here they arise from the warming soil, optimistically facing the world, in their intact glory, prepared to meet the foe of a myriad of slimy creatures.
The “TO BE DONE OR I WILL BE VERY DISAPPOINTED YOUNG LADY” job of the week is the potatoes must be in the ground by end of play on Friday. It is not the planting that is the problem but the fact the vegetable garden seems to have become an inpenetrable jungle of weeds in the matter of only a few weeks, oops it must be months actually, of neglect. So we have been taking it in turns to clear the area which is pretty back breaking work, especially as today the weather has slipped back into summer mode. All this information is the background to Hero’s best joke ever:
Me: My feet feel like a couple of hot pasties.
Hero: Better watch out or you will be paying VAT on them!
Boom, boom! Perhaps you had to be there.