(I have dropped the ball in the journalling department since the boy destroyed the hd. When I said to L that I missed writing, he asked why I'd stopped and it's just that I can't seem to find the time I had before the crash. Part of this is that he's nearly always around these days, running his business from home, and we haven't quite re-negotiated who does what when. Part of this also, is that age old truth that men see women's time as interruptable: When a man works you must leave them alone if they ask, but whatever a woman is doing is, by definition, able to be stopped so that conversation, coffee or the meeting of the needs of others may take place.

Having finally woken up to this truth I am going to attempt to force some private time out of the day. If I succeed in this for more than a day at a time, a ticket in Tattslotto will be in the offing.)

Ahem, holidays away are such wonderful things, a break from routine, new places, new faces and no interruptions from work, appointments or the rush of the daily trivia.

And then you come home.

Ten days away at Phillip Island: seals, Little Penguins (their name, which is also a reflection on their size. Clearly they were named by someone lacking imagination and gifted with a talent for the obvious), beaches of all kinds and qualities, and fire works on New Years Eve.

Lovely.

And then we came home and the garden is 50% dead, Ralph.

And our waterer tells us he was here every second day and that there must have been a killer wind but the thing here is, he was also collecting the mail. The mail gets dropped in the box with a thick elastic band around around the daily dose. There were four thusly banded bundles in said box on our return. Four days with no water? One garden pretty much gone. L is heartbroken and peeved off. I am equally sad, there is not a rose in this place that was casually purchased: I studied books, guides, talked to Rosarians and made my choices carefully as those of us with limited funding do.

The weather wasn't very co-operative on PI, 42C one day, a full day of pouring rain 48 hours later. I just sat on the couch and watched it through the fly screen, rain, rain, don't go away. A steady, soft, pitter patter all the beautiful day.

So coming home to fried leaves and wilted, struggling bushes that had been, if not rocketing with growth when we left at least steadily getting stronger.

So, and I didn't expect to be saying this before I got too old and doddery to manage the place, now we are seriously discussing moving.

I don't know where or when but one of the key criterion is going to be rainfall.

There has to be some.


Happy New Year!