The Piano Tuner

When I was growing up the piano tuner came to our house once a year.  He rested his white cane on the side of the piano and his slightly smelly black Labrador sat panting patiently at his feet.  He spoke to no one, said nothing just listened and twiddled his ratchet around the normally unseen pegs. I assumed that to be a piano tuner you had to be both blind and dumb, as it heightened your other senses.  Looking back, I'm not sure whether our piano tuner was dumb he may have just decided not to bother with the inane 'hairdresser -type' conversations that you can only stretch to with people you don't really know.  "Nice weather for the time of year."  "Are you going on holiday this year?"

Now that I'm grown up, the piano tuner still comes to my house once a year.  My piano tuner isn't blind and he talks.  In fact, he talks a lot.  He is happy to share his opinions and makes me feel like less of a grumpy old woman.  This time he said, "What we have to remember is to enjoy our leisure time.  That's what I've learnt as I've got older."

This year I've made the mistake of enjoying my work a bit too much.  The leisure stuff is what has given me the headaches.  I neglected the piano practice and going to the allotment and now that I can't hide behind being EVER SO BUSY at school I have to start enjoying my hobbies again.  It might take a while though.  Playing the piano and owning an allotment are not hobbies that you can enjoy if you only do them occasionally.  Two weeks of abstention from either hobby leaves you feeling pathetic and frustrated.  Fingers don't work properly, weeds have taken over and it's enough to turn me into a foul mouthed raving lunatic.

I have received my annual weed letter from the Allotment Nazis.  "We have noticed that you are not cultivating your plot to a reasonable standard."  TELL ME ABOUT IT!  HAVE YOU NOTICED THE WEATHER THIS YEAR?  MY SEEDS DIDN'T TAKE.  THE POTATOES HAVE BLIGHT.THE ONIONS ROTTED. SLUGS HAVE EVEN EATEN MY COURGETTE PLANTS.  I'VE ONLY GOT BEETROOT LEFT AND I CAN'T STAND BEETROOT.   The Long Suffering Husband, unable to stand my ranting any longer forced me out of bed this morning and frogmarched me to the allotment.  "You have to make a start," he said.  Luckily, he stayed with me, as he prevented me from swearing at people.  The first, a normally sweet old boy, said as he left, "Good job, I expect to see all this cleared by the next time I come." (F-OFF)  "Ha, Ha," said the LSH, "you know if you ever feel the need you could always pull a few weeds yourself."  Then an old couple, walking hand in hand,  "the dreaded bindwind, oh dear."  Then as they had passed, "Oh, how did she let it get into that state?"  (F-OFF)  "I think it's time to go home.  I'll make you a cup of tea.  It looks so much better," he said before I could open my mouth.

Maybe, a new hobby could be swearing at perfectionists.  I know I would enjoy that.