I blame the telly.

Specifically (un)reality television.

House Rules to be specific.  They made it look possible, and weirdly, even kind of fun, to renovate things.  And by renovate I mean tear shit down.

So on the weekend, we thought it might be fun, or something, to do shit around here.

Trees were cut down, fences were painted, new greenery was planted.  Sounds easy right?

Cutting down trees?  It’s not like the movies with a chop-chop here and cry of “Tim-berrr” there, and it falls.  Oh no.  There are ROOTS and STUMPS left behind.  And that screws up what you want to do next (which is, interestingly, to plant more trees).

Painting fences?  Do you know how hard it is to paint a rendered fence a different colour?  Bloody hard, that’s how.  You have to get your paint brush into all the tiny divots in the wall.  And don’t EVEN talk to me about paling fences that have gaps in the palings and you have to get a teeny tiny brush in between.  When it’s dark.  And raining.  And you are painting it dark grey, sorry, Monument.

Sweet baby cheeses, I can hardly move today, but wait, there’s MORE.  I had to go to the garden place today- and, I shit you not, it’s bigger than the MCG- to find more plants.

I do not know what plants look like.  I mean, I know what the word ‘plant’ means, but I have a pretty loose definition.  To me, it means: green, growing-thingy in the ground.  Some people call the things I know as plants, weeds.  I say: expand your definition (and thus decrease your work-load).

Anyway, I had instructions typed in my phone, of quantities and brands and measurements.  (Who knew plants came in measurements?).  The plants over at the plantatorium were not grouped in any type of sensible order.  There was not a category of: Plants that Alison might want so let’s put them close to the carpark so she doesn’t hurt her elbow any more than she already has when she has to carry them.  No.  The plants that I wanted were spread out over three suburbs.

Eventually, and with three trips back to the main office for further compass directions, I had my purchases.  They did not fit into my car. They had to lie down. They did not like lying down.  Neither did they did not like having their bamboo stakes removed.  And the back of my virtually new car did not like all the tan-bark-soil than spread itself around with wanton abandon.

When they got home, I found that the ground that was to house these plants looks like lovely soft sand, but it is not.  Oh no. It is full of the roots and remains of all of the plants that have come and gone before.  Plus some bits of concrete and rogue building materials.  And did I mention MASSIVE BLOODY ROOTS?

I toiled and toiled and actual sweat came out of me and I almost got a blister and now it is done.

Until tomorrow when I have to paint in-between the fence palings.  With a tiny brush.

Remind me not to go on telly.  My language about  the ROOTS is appalling.  I may have done that thing, when you say the word twice.  Like ATM Machine.  But about the ROOTS

So yeah, I’ll be the one in the tent.

Have you ever been inspired by (un)reality telly?

What have they made you do?

…From The Ashers xx