My problem is the leaf-stripped, dark brown bent bay branches are still stacked up against the old grey stone wall, waiting for their raised beds to be made.
My problem is the gale gusts of storm Eunice are rattling the plastic windows in the shed. Rattling, then breaking them into pieces as the wind rages.
My problem is the shed lies dormant, also waiting for the raised beds to be made, so we can begin potting plants in this potting shed.
My problem is my youngest son likes to listen to snippets of shows on the iPhone again and again, so very loud that I move from room to room trying to find a pocket of peace.
My problem is I feel tired today, though it is only 14:14 hours. A late night and earlyish rise wiped me out. Maybe it’s the two G & T’s I drank last night after singing with my soulroots sisters. Maybe it’s the lag of the full moon. Whatever. I want to rest but my problem is my husband is still at work so cannot take over duties.
My problem is that, once again, the puppy ate the youngest’s glasses. I was taking a moment to fold the laundry. It was a rookie error—I know better than to leave the boy and the dog unattended in the same room. After a short time making small mounds into neat piles, I came back to find my son naked. Nappy flung across the room. Face unadorned. There was no shitty treat for the puppy to eat, so round, green bifocals it was.
My problem is the dog held fast to the frames. Growled at me as I tried to coax them out of his mouth. I growled back. It did no good. My problem is these new frames will cost over £60 to replace. They were only replaced last year after the puppy struck gold once more.
My problem is I want the garden to be finished. I want to be seeding herbs and vegetables and flowers and planting up a pile of beauty.
But the raised beds remain a dream. The shed, mostly used for smoking in, a placeholder. A dream of the future.