Whatever that means
Poor wee Ellen. She had a good day playing with her fly hospital, in which she ‘treated’ dead flies (and a living bee). But at some point something got into her head, possibly the sun, and it seemed like a good idea to spray Rusty with sun cream, giving him a greasy, coconut-scented blob on his back. Determined to make things worse, she then claimed ignorance to how this had happened although did finally accept that she had in fact sprayed him. With the misdemeanour of oiling the dog and the greater crime of lying about it under her belt she only had to go upstairs and get ready for bed and then sit, waiting, like a prisoner on death row, to apologise for lying to her mum before being sent to bed. Ewan had the good grace to say nothing – he’s done that walk.
Other than that little drama, I learned that I’m not yet ready for winging it on the wood front. Plans and lists are needed else things get forgot, wood and time are wasted and things that need not have to be recovered.