Almost felt guilty yesterday. While it seemed like the rest of the world was going to hell in a handcart – how appallingly apt that phrase is, see below – I was having a lovely day in my garden.
I spent most of it in the Spring sunshine planting, weeding, edging and carrying out a range of other gardening tasks. I set up the patio set, tidied the shed, got the jet-wash out in readiness and felt a small frisson of excitement at the thought of creosoting the fence!
It even got warm enough to wear shorts in the afternoon. Having spent a lifetime working in offices, now that I’m semi-retired there’s nothing I like more than spending time outdoors in the sun. Makes me wonder whether I was in the right line of work.
When I’m in the garden and the sun’s shining it’s reached the point where I prefer to be active, rather than sitting still. I’ve at last learned to pace myself – gardening’s something you can’t rush – plus the variety of tasks can keep me going all day.
I really can sense the sun’s vitamin D doing me good plus I swear I can discern my blood pressure and heart rate drop. The sense of well-being is particularly welcome at this time where I worry that every cough or ache could be the start of the dreaded coronavirus.
This unexpected spell of fine weather feels as if the creator who has been using this virus to punish us for our millennial selfishness is now giving us all a bit of respite. Perhaps humanity is already starting to learn its lesson.
To hell in a handcart refers to the Great Plague in London. The dead were left in the street in the 1600’s and were collected by a bailiff. He did not want risk horses so used a handcart like a wheelbarrow to transport them to a common grave.