So the rose arch got made and my thumb began to heal, but still there was the tricky problem of having to erect the monstrous edifice that I had constructed. It didn’t look big and heavy in the plans, but it is. Big and heavy. I didn’t relish the job of putting it in place, but I needed to get outside in the garden after spending the morning trying to find cheaper household insurance. The man on the ‘phone asked for my marital status and when I said ‘widow’ he said, ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ And then proceeded to give me a much higher quote than the previous insurer, at which point I felt like saying, ‘Well, you’re not THAT sorry then are you?’ After that I went to order some dollars from the bank, and as the helpful customer care lady began to fill in the form, Rosie turned to me and asked, ‘How do you spell dollar?’ I told her, and thought nothing more of it until I got home, looked at the form and realised that a bank employee had written the word dollor (sic), not once, but twice. Well, call me old-fashioned, but it’s not the most taxing currency to spell correctly, is it? Had I been trying to order fifty quid’s worth of Ngultrums for a mini break to Bhutan then I might have forgiven such a slip, but really, she must have handled enough green-backs in her time to know better.

Anyhow, back out in the garden I had enlisted the help of my good friend Linda to get the rose arch into place. She did blanch slightly when she saw the size of it, but was eager to prevent me causing myself further injury by trying to lift it alone. Being an ex-nurse (yes, I know lots of them) she was also very cross with me for hurting myself yet again, and told me that she would take away all my power tools if I misbehaved in future. After considerable grunting and straining we eventually got the arch into place, and I have to say that it looked even bigger standing upright than it had done lying down (fill in your own gag here..) Linda looked at me, said, ‘Better get some roses up it quick.’ And then made her excuses and left. This left me with the job of concreting the posts into place.
Mixing concrete isn’t difficult; it’s just tiring and messy. I’m now going to tell you how to do it, just in case you ever have to build a brick wall, or make some heavy footwear for a contract killing. And just so I don’t put you off, I’m going to do it in the style of Nigella Lawson...

How to make muck
1 bag of cement
3 bags of chippings to dust (aggregate)
A quantity of water

Firstly, get your bag of cement; take a really good quality shovel, grasp its thick shaft firmly and drive the head deep into the bag. The crispy brown wrapping should part with a satisfying rip, yielding forth the soft, pewtery Portland powder. Then do the same with the plastic bag that holds the aggregate, and place three heaped shovelfuls of the nutty, crunchy gritty mixture onto a large board - hardboard is best, but if you can’t find it in your local merchant, then just use whatever comes to hand. Then take one shovel-full of the thunder grey cement powder and add it to the aggregate. Mix the two together, and then make a well in the centre of the mixture. Take your trusty zinc watering can and let a quantity of water cascade from the proudly-jutting spout (rainwater is preferable, but if you can’t get hold of it then you’ll have to make do with Evian or Badoit) Gently introduce the mixture to the liquid by softly nudging the sides of the depression with the tip of your shovel, but be careful no to be too rough or you’ll bruise the mixture. Once the liquid is amalgamated take you shovel and push vertically through the mixture using a backward chopping motion. Repeat with occasional lifting and dropping and turning of the muck until the concrete resembles a loose Dundee cake mix. The mix is now ready to use as base for posts, but if you want to lay brick, then replace the aggregate with builder’s sand.

N.B. Although the concrete mix does look just like cake mix, it is not advisable to lick the utensils clean after use.

I figure that if I can mix concrete then most people can. The arch is now held firm and I can begin the task of trying to hide it. Rosie made me a welcome cup of tea and saw fit not to pass comment, although I knew enough from her wry expression to recognise that she thought I’d constructed a folly to end all follies. She and Alice are back to school next week, and I will be able to resume a life of indolence.
Some hope.

I should re-join the local gym - I did enrol a few years ago in the hope of meeting a sweaty, muscular quantum physicist, but gave up after I got fit and realised that the Bernard Manning lookalike in the headband and baggy sweatpants was the best that Devon had to offer in the way of a potential gym partner.

Such is life, and as I constantly tell myself, all good things come to those who wait.


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