Today I feel right.
I’ve fixed up the garden – Skipped out all of the muck, turned over the flowerbeds, potted up a rhododendron, planted rhubarb, filled two windowboxes and put two different types of mint in the big planter, along with finding the miniature hollies and making sure they’re all right.
Then I got to the work I wanted to do – Winterising the bike. I’ve sanded off all the rust, painted the exhaust with heatproof paint, spot-primed and re-painted all the ex-rusty bits of the frame, polished the chrome, waxed the coloured paintwork, replaced the epoxy on the crash bars, tightened up everything that needed tightening and WD-40d everything that needed WD-40ing. And I’ve arranged to borrow a garage off a neighbour so that it’d not left out in the rain overnight whilst I’m not riding it. It looks great – Not exactly like a new bike, but like the neatest rat in the village.
Finally, I’ve helped Dearest with the push bike – Took off the wheels, fitted new innertubes and tyres, sanded the rust (again!) primed the whole frame, and now just waiting for the primer to dry before putting on a nice coat of pillarbox red paint (Making us a household with one red pushbike, one red motorcycle and one red car).
My hands are filthy, there’s rust and primer and putty and engine grease and the unspeakable crap off the underside of a motorbike on them, and there’s soil and bits of tree bark under my nails. They look like my hands again.