Life Less Literary

I found this little chap in the bathroom last night - at least, I’m fairly sure its the same guy. He was resigned to his fate inside a bowl, unable to clamber up the sides. I left him overnight so I could show Lola this morning. Then together we turned him out into the garden. An hour later, after dropping Lola at the childminder’s, I decide to do some work in the garden (running memory tests on my PC inside, which meant I had to work on the laptop anyway). On getting out there, I noticed how the plants looked like they needed a drink, so I squirted the hose all around to quench their thirst and also to make a bit of a nice humid atmosphere (switched the fountain on too which makes things very pleasant). As I was squirting the geraniums hung from the wall, I noticed this chap scrambling out of the waterfall - looked like the same guy I just rescued once already. He looked so cute, glistening there, that I had to grab my camera. Sadly, in the glare of the sunlight tiptoed over the cellar steps at a wierd angle and 10cm from my macro-prey, the Sony’s LCD was, erm, rather hard to read. I couldn’t see whether I was in focus, so this was the best I managed.

And now… I’ve found a shady spot where I can actually see the laptop’s screen and listen to the tinkle of the fountain, and for the first time ever, thanks to the wonders of Wi-Fi, I’m comfortably working in the garden. Except I’m not working, I’m procrastinating. I really ought to do this more often. Work in the garden, that is, not procrastinate.