Fertiliser.

Yesterday, after I picked up the boys from school, I detoured through the senior campus and bought two $4 bags of sheep manure - ostensibly to feed my hedge yet at the same time support the boat club. I had a brief reminisce about the summer of sheep poo, way back in our misspent youth, when Janey and I haunted various shearing sheds around Northern Tasmania, bagged it up and then targeted well manicured streets in Launceston with our product so that we could finance visits to the Royal Oak. It was only $2 a bag then. Before I went out to lunch today I had a gardening blitz whereupon the heavens promptly obliged and rained it all in.

I have been rather worried about my worms lately. Out of the thousands that live in my worm farm the majority were refusing to move on up to the next level and seemed intent in drowning themselves in their own pee. I took advice from Alistair, who knows about these things, and have now transformed the top level into a worm paradise:

Look how happy they are:

No doubt because I picked out by hand all of the spring onion that accidentally went in with an old salad. In case you are wondering, worms can't stand onion, citrus or meat. Fingers crossed I will have compost for the garden sometime soon. It is an excruciatingly slow process, worm farming.

And then as it was Thursday, my husband took me to lunch at his club as he does most Thursdays:

He wouldn't let me take any photos inside in case you are intending to steal the silverware or any of the paintings. And there is some beautiful old stuff yet on the whole the atmosphere is a tad fusty. Oh, except that we had lunch in the room in which we also attended a 40th birthday party last year. I can still see various people, who shall remain nameless, doing frightening disco manoeuvres on the dance floor (cleverly revealed by lifting the square of carpet away). Today, we only had a steak and salad and one glass of wine.

R