"There can't be anyone in the country who doesn't want Leicester City to win the Premier League," gushed a radio presenter this morning. Oh, really? Tell that to Mr B, why don't you?
Mr B, as regular readers will recall (or not, depending
on how interested they are in the Beautiful Game) is a Spurs supporter. Along with his son, his eldest daughter and several other close relatives. As everyone knows, supporting a football team means never giving up, not until the last goal has been scored
(or missed), not until the final whistle is blown. Where there is life, there is hope.
In the interests of solidarity, I watched some of the Manchester United versus Leicester City match this afternoon. In between planting out the sunflower seeds
which were a gift from Sweet Maree, a member of our Nomination Whist group; filling two more green bags with twiggy garden stuff; and eavesdropping on our next door neighbours who were enjoying the company of visitors out in their back garden. In my defence,
my eavesdropping was of the Benign Variety, I was just so glad to see this lovely couple entertaining in their new home, showing it off so proudly to their company.
I was prompted to tinker about in the garden by the sunshine - but also because
I felt inspired by a garden I passed on my way to Church this morning. It was a riot of bluebells and bright red tulips, dancing in the shadow of a spectacular magnolia tree. This garden would have scored 10 out of 10 had I been playing the Gardens Game which
my Little Sister and I used to enjoy on our way to school, marking each garden we passed out of ten. We knew how to create our own entertainment in the Olden Days, you know.
Our garden boasts only a couple of clumps of bluebells plus the odd stray
tulip - but our amazing tamarisk tree could give any magnolia a run for its money. It's not in full bloom yet but it is already looking Absolutely Fabulous. When I decide to repair indoors and put my feet up for a bit, I can see it perfectly from my armchair
in the living room, gladdening the eye. "Are you watching?" Mr B keeps asking me. I drag my eyes from the garden, the birds on the feeder, the newly planted sunflower seeds and fix my attention once more on the television screen. "Of course!" I say.
Next door are having a barbecue. No, I haven't been spying on them but the smoke is drifting across our garden from theirs. I love the smell of a barbecue, especially when I don't have to cook. In our family, the very best barbecuer (is there such a word?
If not, I have just made it up in the interests of enriching the English language) is my Son in Law, husband of the Middle of the Darling Daughters. He is amazingly methodical in his approach, never burns anything and cleans up with similar efficiency when
the cooking is done. Because of this I can easily forgive him for not being prepared to cook sausages or pork steaks.
Our neighbours on the other side are conspicuous by their absence. This is a source of great disappointment to me as Young Vinnie,
he of the inquiring mind and indefatigable energy, had informed me they would be celebrating Easter Bulgarian-style. I was hoping at the very least to hear the sounds of an egg-fight drifting into our garden like the smoke from the other side. Incidentally
my loyal Blog readers have been quick to tell me that it is not only in Bulgaria that Easter is being celebrated today but also in Greece and Cyprus. Where else, I wonder? Be sure to let me know.
Spurs will be playing tomorrow. Mr B says they
are in for "a very, very, difficult game, away to Chelsea..." He is trying not to sound too optimistic, I can tell. He will probably want me to watch the Big Match with him and I expect I will. This is what marriage is all about, celebrating success together,
mopping up the tears if things go wrong.
Yes, I know, it's only a football match. Will you tell Mr B that? You're braver than I am, that's all I can say...