Sadly our spuds have got blight. The quickest way to save them is to remove the tops and hope for the best. These past two days have seen me spend many hours doing just that. I think Bert was a bit impressed at my keenness for the task.
There was a time I’d have hated this job. I couldn’t have borne the slimy feel of the blighted tops.
Was that when you were a wuss?
Yes. But now that I’m married I can do it.
When you’re married you have to touch slimy things.
I had a lovely surprise on Sunday. I got a message on Facebook from Mr Bolan. I’d a suspicion he was in the country when I saw a rant about spides and weather and grating accents. Thinks I to myself that snobby skitter must have pulled into town. But I know that the dear boy doesn’t really mean it when he claims he hates Norn Iron. He’s just cross with us because he thinks we don’t love him. And we do. Loads. Except for spides. They don’t love him. But that's only because they haven't the wit to appreciate him.
So we arranged to go for a walk and it was very pleasant indeed. Mr Bolan is truly blessed. He has delightful children, a handsome dog and a lovely and patient wife.
Then I’d yesterday off work and spent the early part of the day cleaning out cupboards. At around four pm I got very bored with this and headed off for a hike. I took Bonnie, Paddy, a flask of coffee and a banana and walked around the limestone quarry at
Dead Car at Cranny Falls
When I got home Bert staggered in, grey in the face and clutching his back. He looked just like Albert Steptoe. Poor fellow was exhausted from pulling those slimy potato tops. That’s when I took over. Some folk might like the tall classy girls but us short common weemin - we make great farmer’s wives.
Bert exhausted from pulling tops