Not even the excessive 'dubstep' (HOW IS THAT EVEN MUSIC HOW) from my neighbours can sully the pleasantness of trolling on the balcony with a glass of wine and a slice of pizza after a week of work. I can't believe it wasn't even a full week of work, it doesn't feel any shorter after the Bank Loliday. I'm sometimes tempted to start an entirely new blog all about my garden so that people who are sick of hearing about my garden (90% of the audience of this blog, aka approx 9 people) could avoid all the plants etc. BUT I don't have that much to talk about on here except my pesky garden. There's the equally murky world of my mental health, but that's usually a miserable thing to talk about, because when things are good (and they are reasonably OK at the moment apart from residual side effects), there's not much to say, but when things are bad, there's loads of things to say but they're all sad or scary things. SO HERE IS MY GARDEN:

I'm hoping I'll have blueberries at some point in the future, which is a nice surprise. The blueberry bush was a rescue that looked like an unhappy pot of sticks when I bought it. I'm aware it's probably not emotionally healthy to think of reduced-price plants as rescues. The potatoes continue to thrive, although part of the excitement is, of course, that YOU CAN'T SEE THEM. Anything could be going on where the potatoes are! I might end up with hundreds, or they might all die of the blight! Thankfully, my livelihood doesn't depend on potatoes since the English have no longer manipulated the economy so as to make working people reliant on one food source, thus turning a potato blight into a nationwide disaster. I shall not be as unfortunate as my ancestors.
I've become overexcited about potatoes again. Also strawberries – I've got those stackable strawberry planters, three plants per planter, and I bought the third level today. Not sure I can stack it any higher now, but NEVER MIND. I also have about 12 more strawberry plants in the hanging planters. Cauliflower-wise, one's doing really well, two are doing quite well, one's looking quite wilty and the other's more or less dead although I'm refusing to give up hope entirely. I can't figure out what's wrong with it. It's getting exactly the same treatment as the others, so you'd think maybe clubroot or black rot or something, but it doesn't seem to match up. I must google more.
On a different note I've been thinking about joining a political party, a socialist one to be precise, since I'm always all like 'oooo the left in Britain is so weak o woe nothing shall ever change'. The other day I woke up a bit and thought 'Well, hang on, Katie, what are YOU actually doing about it?' I'd like to more than join, I'd like to go to meetings and hand out leaflets and everything. I wouldn't be very good at actually talking to folk, what with my general hatred of confrontation, but I could still do something. The stumbling block I'm hitting is one I've hit before, though, which is that the further left you look in British politics, the more fragmented things get (I think this also applies to the far right, although that's not my area of expertise). It seems like as soon as there's an ideological difference, no matter how small, within one of these parties, the answer is to FORM A NEW PARTY. But I don't think it makes me a bad lefty to say that these differences don't matter, or if they do matter, they don't matter enough to go forming a new party over? Also I'm overcome with guilt that my overwhelming love of Wilkos, their gardening section in particular, makes me fatcat capitalist.
At work I am sitting on a new chair. It is more like a kneeler than a chair. It is supposed to be good for my back. The issue that I have with normal chairs is that I am too small for my feet to touch the ground. Accepting use of the Special Chair is not admitting that my shortness is a disability in any way (see also: my refusal to have short person portable steps in my kitchen, making it necessary for me how to learn to climb on work surfaces).
Tomorrow I'm thinking of taking a stroll to the beach and frolicking. HOW I SHALL REJOICE,