Well, my weekend has consisted of bashing apart concrete, digging out stumps, and then bagging them and schlepping them through the house to the front (since it's not possible to get from the back to the front without going through the house). The cement and bricks holding in the world's most sturdy laundry post is now in a 'hippo bag' in the front, along with part of the kitchen floor (figured I might as well take advantage of it being there), and the rest of the crap is in bags. I have to call the council now to get them to pick it up. Of course, due to health and safety, no bag can weigh more than 14kg, because we wouldn't want the delicate garbage men straining any part of their physiques. When I first lived here, the general idea was that if you hurt yourself, it was probably your own damn fault, whereas now, the UK has taken health and safety legislation and refined it to the point where I'm surprised we are allowed to walk down the street unassisted. Argh. Anyway, next weekend I'm going to remove an absolute shitload of ivy, and then we get to start thinking about what we actually want to put into the yard.
Amusingly, while things like the laundry pole (very old) would probably have lasted through a nuclear war, the deck, which covers much of the back, is like many of the recent additions to this house - cheap - not sure how long that's going to last. Oh well - live and learn.
Anyway, back to work tomorrow (yuck). Really really really want a better paying job, and so far, the only one that came up would involve a 2 hour commute each way. In the words of George Bush (daddy Bush) - "not gonna happen". Sigh.
Right, off to cut my hair, which has gotten excessively fluffy and is accentuating the grey (and the lack on top - boo).
Oh yeah, I forgot, the initial reason I started to write was to make the (amazing, I'm sure) observation that, unlike in most of the US, as London has been in pretty much continuous occupation for the last 2000+ years, digging in one's back yard turns into a bit of an archaeological adventure. Lots of bricks, plates, an old toothbrush, glass, bits of slate. I actually bought a screen to sift the soil - I'd prefer to be able to dig through with my hands without worrying I'm going to cut myself on glass. And there is the other problem that our yard seems to be the neighbourhood litter box - nothing like freshly turned soil to cozy up to a kitty's bottom! Oh well - I guess it will be fertile, if a bit stinky.