Barbecue Ready...

I love my garden... but not all the hard work that goes into maintaining it. Sometimes I just want to concrete over the whole bloody lot, but then, on a night like this, I just want to sit out in it.

Over the last three weeks, we have jet washed, ripped out the floor in the summer house shedpub, and replaced it with a solid wood floor. Mr G has done battle with toads (don't ask, but hilarious). If it hasn't moved I've stained it, including myself - fetching shades of sage and dark oak. Countless runs to the recycling centre, and we are finally done. Aching, but done. The only 'outdoor' job that needs doing now is laying the carpet tiles in the summer house next week, which means dragging all the furniture out - again. But still, once it's done, it's done. Then we can get the troops around, eat, drink and be merry - just in time for the school holidays.

Make mine a large red. Large...

In addition to being really proud of Mr G in general, because he's an all-round top bloke, husband and father, last Monday he was voted Man of the Year in our local Slimming World group. He was as pleased as punch, and it's really spurred him on to keep going at it. 13 weeks in and we've both lost exactly the same amount of weight, to the half pound - because we literally do everything together. 

We've just celebrated twenty years together. Twenty years, bloody hell, I don't feel old enough (mentally) to have been with one person for twenty years? I demand a recount... I don't know what the secret is, apart from meeting someone who is totally as weird as you are, and puts up with your little quirks as if they were normal. I suppose they are our normal now. We think we've probably argued about four times in that twenty years, although there's probably been four thousand times that we've wanted to stab the other in the head with something pointy. We laugh every day, with each other, at each other. And honesty. Even if it's not what you want to hear, it's always better to hear the truth. Which is why I will never ask him 'Does my bum look big in this?' ;-)

Off to Wrexham again this Sunday, our team is on a winning streak at the moment, having beaten Keighley Cougars and top of the table Whitehaven in the last two games, this weekend it's Workington at home.

Last week we went a little earlier to watch the under 13's play, it was the first time that I'd watched a youth team play rugby and I have to say I was really impressed. We're going to go early and watch them play again this weekend.

And! Mr G's howlers (of late).

In the car, Dragon Radio on, pulling into a parking space in Asda. Prince is warbling Raspberry Beret... and Mr G is warbling...

Mr G: She wore a raspberry parade.
Me: What?
Mr G: What?
Me: Did you just sing... raspberry parade?
Mr G: Yes, why?
Me: Did you really think it was raspberry parade? Seriously? That’s what you’ve sang all these years?
Mr G: Well, what the hell is a raspberry beret? Someone with fruit on their head? Makes no sense.
Me: I think it’s meant to be the colour? A beret in a raspberry colour? At least that makes more sense than a raspberry parade. How do you wear a parade?

And... pottering around in the garden, he comes in to give me a progress report...

Mr G: I've emptied all those things. Terragators.
Me: *looks blankly at him*
Mr G: What are they called? Proprietors.
Me: *still blank*
Mr G: Fookin' ell, I'm getting worse... those things with seedlings.
Me: Do you want me to tell you?
Mr G: Yes.
Me: Propagators.
Mr G: I've emptied those.

And... driving down Caernarfon Road...

Mr G: Where are we going now, Thunderfields?
Me: ...
Mr G: What the **** am I going on about? What's Thunderfields?

(We still don't know what or where he meant)

It's not easy being me, but it's a lot easier than being him... :-)