Self portrait day #2

Hot dog! Did i really write that stuff about myself? My favourite sandwich was going to change to crispbread with Philidelphia, except they all went soft and i didn't enjoy them at all. I'm still looking for uteruses or other body parts.

I had the urge to dig up the garden yesterday. Before the Dior Prefect (remember him?) moved in, we lived with a lovely girl who planted potatoes, peas and herbs in the garden. After she moved out, all the garden has seen is a load of rats and, strangely, a deflated football.
As summer is coming, what could be better than pushing your hands about in lovely cool soil and eating the results of your labour? (as long as the results of your labour aren't a steel bridge or a baby.)