elbow grease or "if something's worth doing

well, it's worth doing properly"

sometimes I curse my mother and her PWE (and no, that's not her. . .) (but it would be a good resemblance of her Victorian matron aspect) (they have a lot to answer for, those Victorians): why is it that. . .

a little hoovering (or Henrying, in my case) turns into a major spring clean? a little dusting (E-Clothing, in my case) turns into window washing and door wiping and knocker polishing?a little weeding (mainly dandelioning, in my case) turns into a garden renovation project?

I'll bet that Lutyens never had this problem. . .

. . .on the other hand, as I weeded the front strip (actually, I can't really call it a garden at all - it's a brick wall - a brick wall that is falling apart - with a space for weeds in the middle of the top), the mounted police clip-clopped past on their daily meander thru the back streets of SWsomewhereorother (the stables are around the corner, apparently) and said they were looking forward to seeing the results of my work in due course - a riot of colour in this case, as opposed to the riots they usually come across - (I was planting seeds at the time) (nasturtium); an elderly man walked past, said hello, and eventually walked back again and said hello again; three people left the house opposite, separately; the guy who lives in the house next to the house opposite nodded at me; three sets of neighbours walked past, pushing strollers with babies and herding toddlers on scooters in various appropriate directions (home, I'd guess, given the screaming coming from the babies); the sun came out in the west and dark clouds that had been forming overhead blew to the east

and there, in the sky, a rainbow appeared above me. . .

all's well that ends well, as they say