Nothing to show for it!

Old Ada Hendriks (my maternal grandmother),

she of the wise saw and adage for every occasion, had

two questions in particular which were guaranteed to

drive me to near distraction.

Oh to be in England now that summer's here.

This wet, miserable bank holiday weekend somehow put

me in mind of her because I have accomplished

absolutely nothing of any worth whatsoever.

Here comes Question One.  I can still see the heavily

corseted old Victorian matron now in my mind's eye saying,

"You've just had three days off my girl and what have you

got to show for it?"

Nada granny, zilch, rien, zero, diddley squat.

I have accomplished nothing!

Whatever happened to sharing?

I really dislike bank holidays.  We're expected to do things,

enjoy stuff and generally put ourselves about a bit.

Well I've tried all that all to no avail, I really have.

I know the feeling.

I've been to a combined garden and dog show with my

lovelly Russian friend Gala and dog Max only to find that

the dog show wasn't on until the next day and the garden

show was farce. (That should have been "a farce"

I think I'm turning into an honorary Russian.)  Three pot

plants and a burger van with no customers.

I exagerate slightly but you get my drift.

Shall we call it a draw?

Rain stopped play both at the Acle cricket club and, more

importantly, at the allotments so no beans to freeze

as it's too wet for picking and too soggy to plant out my

parsley seedlings, so I was stuffed there too.

A girl after my own heart.

And try as I might inspiration for a new design simply wouldn't

come to me.  So as the rain lashed against the windows and

caused tumult on my pond I picked up my sewing only to find

that it was much too dark to see and the bulb had gone in

the lamp behind my chair.  Bugger, back to the boxed sets and

a square or five of bitter Belgian chocolate by way of recompense.

At least the Morris men copped it too.

Which bring me rather neatly on to the second of Ada's

irritating questions.  "Come on girl, speak up." (prod with

bamboo walking cane).  "What have you got to say for yourself?"

Donkey ride anyone?

I know what I was usually thinking at that point but I'll leave you to

fill in the blanks lest a ghostly voice should tell me to go

immediately to the bathroom and wash out my mouth with soap

and water.  No way Granny, that would probably constitute

child abuse these days!