We had the quietest weekend down in Dorset... Once Friday night was out of the way - there was a huge party in the village, our neighbour Glen & Mandy's summer bash - where we danced the night away to the manic sounds of the local heavy metal band Slipped Disc. (I bet that's a line you weren't entirely expecting to read).
Crazy nights out have been turning up like London buses; you wait for ever, then along come 6 or 7 in a row. Every evening this week just gone, we've been saying goodbye to a succession of Charlie's friends and relatives - in between some crazy work days as well (I am not sure entirely why I decided it was a good idea to fly to Scotland early on the Monday morning after our wedding party, but there we are. It was an amazing trip, but exhausting). I'm beginning to realise there's a reason that people go on honeymoon the day after they get married, and it's not entirely for romance. It's for a flipping holiday. We're off to Italy in a few weeks - and I just cannot wait.
But on Saturday, this weekend, the dust began to settle. The day started for me with a massive, post Mandy-and-Glen-party hangover, which breakfast at Soulshine in Bridport put to rest, followed by a lovely lunch over in Powerstock with our friends Jane and Johnny. We meandered back to the village in the afternoon. Charlie cleared his flower room, which was a mammoth task; I washed up knives and forks, which wasn't a mammoth task, but did take several hours.
In between times we nipped outside to enjoy the remarkable summer evenings, the light glowing across the veg garden. The sweet peas have gone mad; dahlias are just starting. I'm sure you won't mind if this blog is all about pictures of the garden. A standard default setting, after all, when I've entirely run out of interesting things to say. Continue reading