Feeling fenced in…

I spent the weekend back in the garden.

It’s all about getting it ready for JJ’s first summer as an active one year old.

This time, it was the turn of the fence.

I had booked in an order with Wickes and B&Q for various tools, bit of wood and fence ‘stuff’ to be delivered on Saturday.

Part of me hoped for rain or a failed delivery but everything turned out nicely.

So after a little bit of clearing and prep, I got to work.

I started by laying the frame out to scope where everything needed to go.

I’ve got wood.

The plan was to put in five fence posts and run a series of beams across the posts to attached the slats.

I put some 24″ metal post spikes on the fence posts and with a little love from a sledgehammer, drove them into the ground.

I then dug a small foundation for some brick to fill in a gap of a small wall, which you can just about make out.

This was just to try to be a bit neat although it wasn’t a good job!

While the concrete was setting I then affixed the beams to finish the frame.

It was quite tricky doing this by myself as you can imagine.

You can see the improvisation of using an old fence post to help me balance the beam!

Once all drilled in to place with my nice new cordless drill (a boy’s got to have toys), I then had to cut a few bits of wood to angle part of the fence around to meet up with a gate.

Then it was a relatively straight forward job of nailing the slats into place.

With the exception of another trip to Wickes when I ran out of slats, it was quite quick to complete.

Then a quick tidy up, hose down and the finished result appeared like magic.

Eh voila.

Ok, so the eagle-eyed among you will see a slight dip in the fence (Wifey was obviously quick to point this out) but apart from that I was quite happy with the result.

I still need to finish off the wall where you can see a gap towards the end.

During the build I was also attacked by hailstones.

They were quite large but looked amazing.

They were shaped like a pyramid on one side and then loads of crystals on the top.

Wifey: hand model extraordinaire

It was probably a message from above to sort out the wall.

And the dip in the fence.

Gardening, the next stage…

In a previous post I revealed how I’d started to turn the quagmire outside my house into the beginnings of a garden.

A place of tranquillity.

A place of rest.

A place to contain JJ.

Next step, building a fence.

Rather than buy some panels, I’m going build it from scratch.

A bespoke fence if you will.

I’m looking forward to it for a few reasons:

• It’ll test my basic handyman skills to the limit, which are of course, quite limited
• I’m ordering materials from Wickes and B&Q like a tradesman, grrrrrr
• I’m buying a new cordless drill to help with the job along with a box of bit and drill pieces (got to love the toys)
• It involves sawing and chopping and screwing and hammering and general man stuff
• I get to play with cement and bricks
• It’s an opportunity to prove to JJ that his Daddy can build and make things without needing a trip to hospital

My in-laws were up at the weekend so I took the opportunity to grab the F-i-L out into the garden for a bit of head scratching, planning and drinking beer.

A quick trip to Wickes to check out the materials needed, advice on a drill and then I was sorted.

Knackered fence on the left.

As you can see from the image the fence on the left has seen better days.

So the plan is to completely clear the area, remove the fence and posts which are a bit rotten and continue a gap in a wall where the fence will sit.

I’ve already started by cutting down a hawthorn bush, which took a pound of flesh from me in the process, and you can just make out the stump.

The fence on the right is new and not my handywork – it’s straight, looks neat and was a good job.

So I’ll be out in the garden this weekend demanding cups of tea, slapping Wifey on the arse and sporting a builders butt, while JJ looks on with a look of complete disinterest as his garden continues to take shape.

I’ll keep you posted.

A garden is reborn…

I have quite a small garden.

So you would have thought it would be easy to maintain.

No.

Over the years it has seen a wider diversity of life than the Amazon Basin.

As a result it needed a good dose of Napalm to sort it out.

Unfortunately Napalm is banned where I live.

Wifey and I took to the garden to bring it back under control in preparation for some turf.

Almost tidy.

Getting ready for the turf.

It was either that or concrete.

I put an order in with a friend who has his own turf business.

(Thanks George, and sorry about the last-minute “Oh God, we’ve got another one” customer experience.)

And then the fun began.

For some reason I thought the turf would be dropped off and brought into the garden.

Wifey was quick to point out that it comes on a pallet.

Stupid me.

Very stupid me.

Totally stupid me.

Wifey was keen to press that home to me.

Especially as we have nowhere to put a pallet.

Fortunately, a neighbour vacated a parking space around the back of the house before the turf arrived.

Lucky me.

Very lucky me.

Very lucky jammy dodger b*stard me.

Especially I was at work and Wifey was at home.

Saturday came and I got to work lugging the rolls of turf through to our garden.

It was all strangely therapeutic.

Piece 1 down. Time for a tea break.

I watched my little garden slowly come together.

Like a jigsaw puzzle.

Perhaps it was not as straight as first planned.

The fence is wonky, not the turf. Honest.

But I did not mind.

The garden had grass on it and that’s all that mattered.

Back breaking work.

Just when I thought I completed it…

Get in there.

…Wifey was quick to point out “you missed a bit.”

That’s what wife’s are for I guess.

Garden. Done.

Granted it won’t be featured in the next edition of Gardeners’ World, but I was happy.

It also allowed me to try out my latest magic trick.

Get back in your box Copperfield. (you might need to click on the image.)

Sorry.

So JJ has a little garden to run around in.

And soon Daddy will be teaching him how to use a Flymo.

Happy days.

Cats of St Albans, beware…

I’m sick to death of cats right now.

Well, a particular group of cats.

My garden is not in a good state right now.

It’s, how can I put it, in limbo.

I just need to find some time to tidy it up, and get something growing.

So in the mean time, I have to put up with watching cats use it as a dumping ground.

Literally.

I’ve tried to find the sign in cat language that says “please feel free to defecate here” but to no avail.

My kitchen looks out on to the garden so when I’m washing up or cooking, I witness their performance.

All I can do is wave my hands about like a demented monkey while they sit there staring back with their beady, judging eyes.

I’d open the big kitchen window and thump it shut to scare them, as they run off with poo still being crimped out.

They got used to that too quickly.

In the past, in a previous house, I bought a sonic alarm to scare them off.

That worked for about 1 second.

I’ve tried running out of the door but they scarper before my size nines do a Jonny Wilkinson on them.

I even do a good impression of a hissing cat, which used to work.

But they now stare back at me like I’m a moron.

Guess I would look like one to a cat.

So what’s next?

Feel free to put forward any suggestions.

I’ve ruled out limpet mines.

I might get into trouble.

With JJ soon to be crawling around, it’ll end in disaster.

And I don’t want him coming back into the house with what looks like chocolate all over his hands, in case I’m fooled into licking it off.

I think I’m going to buy a super soaker.

Cats hate water.

Especially when aimed at them.

I’ll let you know how I get on.

Say hello to my little friend.