Tuesday, May 18, 2004

Summer Here Kids 

Although to my untrained eye it still looks like something from a horror movie (posters are available in the foyer), the nurses at the bandage clinic say my toe is making excellent progress and no longer do I need to see them.

They are a kind and sunny bunch and a credit to their profession. One nurse told me that it’s not unusual to have children swearing and spitting at them. The thought of this makes me fume.
I’d like to think that my good humoured charm and detached bemusement in the face of pain and serious tickling counterbalanced some of the shit they have to put up with. That for every foul mouthed lout there is a grinning twerp like me. It’s a yin and yang thang.
I’m kidding no one but myself. Amazingly, the nurses seem perfectly capable of doing their jobs in a cheerful and professional manner with or without my gurning presence. And in tomorrow's episode of Tim States The Obvious, I'll be revealing that milkmen have to get up early, and I've an exclusive on estate agents - they're shifty and earn a lot.

Now there’s no excuse again for not getting on with the garden. As I suspected, my efforts with the turf remover only amounted to half a job. Lots of roots were left intact and now fresh grass is sprouting up once more on my soily plot. The little tufts of growth resemble what Elton John’s head must have looked like after his hair transplant. So I’m afraid I’m going to apply Chemicals Of Death to the area, which I know is incorrect, but bloody hell, Summer’s here kids and I’ve got lost time to make up for.
The panic stricken gardener must be the garden centre’s favourite type.

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