Alien shelter

A working day for all. Mr B struggled on through his bad back to defeat the unexpectedly rotten floor in the vaulted room upstairs. He says the solution is not textbook, but looks like a floor and acts like a floor. That'll do for me.

Meanwhile I ironed the half of the world I didn't iron yesterday then moved on to the garden. The kids risk atrophying over the long summer holidays with all the easy iPad and TV diversions. They both read every day, but I think some helping and physical exercise is a good idea too. So I told them if they helped me sort out the garden (since a physio has me 'signed off' gardening for the foreseeable future) then they would have the right to have a bit of the garden for them - a treehouse or something.

Here's Treehouse Mark 1. Merited apparently by 2 hours of reluctant and snail's pace work. And they didn't even finish the allotted tasks. Tsk. A chat about the realities of the employment market followed, but I am the giver of second (and third) chances, so Project Treehouse can restart tomorrow.

They might also want to reconsider the scale of their plans...