Hello, er, TONE. typing. Roughly a week and a half ago, I was, erm, round at Mrs. Pea's, the old lady with long sliver hair, who lives below us, but not directly below us, sort of right a bit.
Anyway, Mrs. Pea has a, er, little garden, that she loves, and she does all the maintenance even though she's approaching her late-nineties. Things like repotting her pink azalea, deadheading her sweet pea's, and trimming her climbing roses...
|'Mrs. Pea' by TONE.|
...Which is what she was up to when I rested on her tiny plastic fence thingy, the one that separates her garden from the, erm, communal green... I think that's what it's called.
She was standing on a small set of steps, holding a pair of blunt looking clippers, and she mustn't have had her glasses on, cos she was cutting willy nilly. Then it appeared that she had come across a, er, really stubborn bit, cos she seemed to be using all of her might.
The second she finally cut through it, I heard Major shouting from Leroy's, so I flew up to see what was wrong.
Turns out that it wasn't a rose shoot that Mrs. Pea was cutting through, but our telephone cable, and just as Major was posting one of his 'Major Music Monday' posts.
As you can tell, we've got the, er, internet back now, but it's been sort of nice being without it. Everyone's been more chatty, maybe I'll ask Mrs. Pea to cut though our telephone line again soon.