Today we spent the whole day wading in the pond with rolled up trousers, planting up all the marginals. At first, the water seemed quite pleasant, but as the day wore on, so the chill set in and morale started to dip amongst my wonderful volunteer planters.
Saggy trouser legs and other bits of clothing became wet, further exacerbated by the onset of rain at 6.00pm. I decided to call it a day before my volunteers became mutinous. As I made my way back to Sloane St tube, the phone rang with my hosts (who are bravely putting me up for the Chelsea duration) asking me to pop into their favourite Chinese restaurant for a bite to eat.
I looked like an exceptionally muddy drowned rat and tried to back out due to my appearance but was persuaded otherwise on the grounds of needing a decent meal. The restaurant was rather smart and upon entry was reminded of that wonderful missing-the-dart-board-in-the-Slaughtered-Lamb-scene from An American Werewolf in London.
Except this time it was chopsticks
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