12 Jun 08
So, finally, spring has sprung, and all that jazz. But it's taken its sweet time...
This year, I've been acutely over-aware at just how few rain-free days we've had since Christmas, because I've been waiting for a good 12 weeks to seal the render finish to the new garden pond - already christened Lake Flaccid by a neighbouring wag - with a fancy, water-based paint which, oddly, simply dissolves into a black, useless slurry at the first sniff of rain.
Lake Flaccid is part of a major garden overhaul which, for the last two months at least, has largely manifested itself as nothing more than a vast sea of mud punctuated by the odd rock. Sadly, not content with its ongoing role as garden, said mud has contrived to get almost everywhere imaginable within the house including, on one memorably mysterious occasion, under my duvet.
Naturally, with two small children providing an ever-willing means of transportation, it has also made it on board the Mondeo Estate by the bucketful, leaving me with the burgeoning belief that not one single member of Ford's design team lives in the countryside and, indeed, only ever visits it for a bet.
