Saturday, 24 November 2012


  Someone changed the boiler recently.  The new one has a narrower flue and exhaust than the old one, which means the hole in the wall needed mortaring to a narrower gauge so as to be snug to the new pipe.  Fair enough, but they didn't put a tarpaulin down before they started mortaring, so the stuff went everywhere!

  • It left indelible streaks on the patio.
  • It discoloured a chunk of my bench, which'll mean an afternoon spent sanding and revarnishing.  
  • It gummed up the head of my leaf rake.  
  • It got on the lawn, shot the pH up through the roof and killed a square metre.  
  Grass likes a pH of between 5 and 7.5.  At 7.5 it gets sick, at 8.5 it dies.  I'm treating the area with citrate over the Winter so that I can try and reseed in the Spring.  Balls!  

In other news: aphids!

Things aren't all bad though.  I need some manure and Nathan (the mate with the horse) has offered to drive some round in the boot of his car.  This comes as a relief, because trying to cart a barrowload of poo on and off the train might raise a few eyebrows at the very least.  He drives up from Redhill to visit his partner in Boston Manor, so Strawberry Hill is about 50p's worth of petrol as a deviation from the normal route.  Easy peasy.

Life ain't all bad.


  1. I would be livid if someone caused me all that grief just because they didn't use a tarpaulin. I don't envy you all that clearing up; I do, however, envy your choice of friends... oh for a friend who was willing to fill their car boot with horse manure for me. That is the stuff of dreams.

    1. He's my best mate and he knows I'd return the favour. I can't say I'm happy about the grass, but I'll need to overseed it in the Spring anyway to thicken it up for the Summer. This'll just be a little extra. The patio is the patio, it's never been what you'd call a thing of beauty. I guess what I'm most miffed about is the bench.