Who Flung Dung Deux

Cakeatonne and I have been chipping away at the old dung pile and now it is no more. £80 worth of the old umber magic carted down to the plot. My pythons were singing the whole time. Actually Parsley called them worms. They are a tad out of practice. One thing I can't seem to shake is achy hips. Now I'm no James Brown, in many senses but these hip catastrophes are doing my shed in. Is it the cold? Is it my body protesting against real work, the real work of being outside for a change? Or am I getting old? Whatever I'm writing this blog in the fullness of Midwinter Spring, and I feel just fine.

The dung looks ace on the plot, all nice and ordered. Still we have to rake it over so it's evenly spread over the cardboard, I had a wee go at that the other day and the pythons moaned after five minutes. Really I am dreadfully out of practice, and if I'm going to attain the Greek God physique I had some two years ago. What hasn't changed from two years ago is Parsley as overlord. She was making me rake up as much of that muck as was humanly possible:

Parsley: 'Go and grab a rake there's still loads of manure on the path and in those brambles.'

Oregano: 'My pythons are screaming and I swear there's nothing left!'

Parsley: 'Are you kidding? There's easily another two barrows left in there.'

Oregano: [Sarcastic] 'Oh yeah! Look there's £2.50 0n the path and another £7 in the brambles haaaaaa.'

Parsley: 'Shut up Howard.'*

* This came from a conversation we had about Howard from Take That. For those of you new to the blog, or with a bad memory Parsley thinks I look like him. See http://parsleyandoregano.blogspot.com/2009/08/fat-pigeons-hedgehogs-and-howard-from.html. He's also playing at Gatecrasher later this month. However if he pulls that quasi-smile (lower lip tucked in so he looks like he has no bottom teeth: take a closer look) then I'm not going. VIP entrance or no!

Pace.