Had a lovely lie in this morning and Husband brought me tea in bed.  I love Saturdays.  I’m in a great mood- despite the fact that he’s unwilling to break, I love having him home with me and like nothing more than spending time with him.  Husband, miraculously, says he feels the same.
I’m in annoying over-drive today and have spent nearly an hour making noises that irritate him.  My favourites to dates are ‘baby crying’ and the ever popular

‘Noingnoingnoingnoingnoingnoingnoingnoingnoing.’

Husband as usual is in unshakable mode.

‘That’s a nice song, did you write it?

‘Yeah I did actually, I wrote it for you because I love you so much.  I also wrote ‘Candle in the Wind’ regardless of what Elton John says.  I sent it to him anonymously because I didn’t want to be famous, you know, ‘cause I’m shy and stuff.’

‘You’re very clever wife, what did I do to deserve someone like you?’


‘Something really good probably, like winning a Peace prize or inventing Xbox.’

About two weeks after we moved into this house we woke to find our lush green lawn had erupted in muddy earth explosions.  Husband assured me that no, this wasn’t the work of Al-Qaeda, and that it was more likely we had a mole than a terrorist cell operating in the garden.  I remained unconvinced until Husband became obsessed with the creature and woke me at 4am every day to join him on a reconnaissance mission.  For nearly a week we were up at stupid o’clock being still and quiet waiting for the mole to show its furry face.  On the seventh day, I was forced to admit that the culprit did look more like a mole than Osama Bin Laden, however, I stand firm, the similarity is uncanny.
Husband was dismissive of my suggestions to phone the Army and opted instead for a more home-guard approach.  While I was looking in the yellow-pages for the boss of the Paratroopers, Husband was ordering a humane mole trap from Amazon.   Surprisingly, the mole trap arrived before Regimental HQ in Hampshire returned my call.
This was nearly a month ago, and the mole has long since moved on, Husband assures me that he was not harmed and simply wanted a change of scenery.  I’m pleased that I don’t have to get up and stare at grass at 4am anymore.
Since this little blip, Husband has been painstakingly planting grass seed and manicuring the green, green grass of home.  He’s nursed the battlefield back to health and healed the scars it once bore.  I’m so proud of him.
I was up at four this morning.  Like a Paratrooper on leave creeping out of an ugly bird’s bedroom, I stealthily went to the garden.  Silently I moulded compost into mole-hill shaped mounds and deposited them onto the lawn.  The mole managed to break husband, and I’m not being beaten by a fucking rodent.
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