queen victoria

It may come as a surprise to you, but I’m a bit of a fan of Queen Victoria, mainly the Leonard Cohen song, but also the historical figure.

Queen Victoria, my father and all his tobacco loved you.
I love you to in all you faults.
The slim, un-lovely virgin floating among German beer.
The mean governess of the huge pink maps.
The solitary mourner of a prince.

This is the word of Leonard Cohen, thanks be to Leonard.

If old Queen Vic was to set out for a Sunday night run, I imagine it would be a fairly unique affair. I see something rather stately, dignified and above all SLOW, with black petticoats, a couple of carriages in attendance and possibly a crystal palace hastily erected along the route.

My run tonight was quite like that, except with neither the stateliness, dignity, petticoats of any colour, carriages nor a crystal palace.

That’s my way of saying it was SLOW. But it was a run, and for this I suppose I must be thankful.

Reasons to be thankful
You know they have those “open garden scheme” things? Some uber-green thumb with a gee-whiz garden invites all and sundry in for a squiz one weekend and everyone is dead impressed.

Well, there’s a reason they’ve never held one of those things at my place. I have what’s known in the trade as a black thumb. Everything I touch turns to ash, weeds and bitter dust.

So, to say I’m a bit chuffed to see my pumpkins growing is something of an understatement. First they sprouted, then they spread, taking over the rest of the vegie patch, and now there are ACTUAL pumpkins. They’re little, to be sure, but they’ll grow. Hooray!