British beaches just don’t do it for me at all, but Mrs Fogg loves them.

So off we pootle to “Filey”, which I am sorry is smaller and less packed than Scarborough, but for me equally unappealing location. The things you have to do for someone’s birthday. Oooo let’s do the British delicacy of fish n chips in a greasy spoon where in this era of silliness you have to wear a mask, or not in this restaurant (loose meaning of the word), because all of their staff found them uncomfortable and took the decision not to wear them, that’s alright then.

On then to pay and leave, ahh we don’t take card, cash only! So where’s the sign and more importantly where’s a cash machine? Queue in the Post Office (who weren’t doing cash on cards). So try the Safeway, nope, balance enquiry only, Barclays, Nationwide, Lloyds, all non-existent. Tesco, a 10 min walk later, to find one machine out of order and the other with a queue and some woman trying multiple cards to get cash. At last cash and the chance to release Mrs Fogg from the “restaurant”, £19.98 or we keep the Mrs (bit steep if you ask me as ransomes go). Here’s £20, now give me my change!

Mrs Fogg is now an ole fart “senior”, knocking on the door of bus pass heaven.

A leisurely up and then 15 cards (wow how many people does she know), prezzies and then out to collect packages from the post office including an awesome home made fruit bowl by Mr Talented Bartonfink.

While Mrs Fogg was forced to do the shopping (on her birthday of all days, well I class it as a treat since she never does the shopping normally), I spent the time inflating and strategically placing balloons across the house

Happy Birthday Mrs Fogg

Here ye, here ye, let it be knowneth that Mrs Fogg is about to enter into HadultHood by becoming 21 for the 30th time. Time then for celebrations for this wonderful woman (I’ll collect the tip later).

Day One is a trip to a luxury lodge with her very own hot tub (and rubber duckie). You can find her Here

Is almost done.

Two days to prep the land and seat the wooden supports. One day for Mrs Fogg to build the frame ably assisted by Pops. One day left to fit all the panes of glass and make it waterproof.

Or roughly translated in my pigeon Francais “how we prepare for the greenhouse“. And it’s goin here!

Mrs Fogg has bought a DIY greenhouse that we need to build (jeez there’ll be fireworks), but first off we need a stable base in a field with dips and rises everywhere. Operation “dig a hole commences”. Followed by 10 trips to the compost bin with 3 square metre of sod.

Stage 2 cut 4 off 2.4m x .2m x .15m trees to size, each one weighing in at 30kg a piece, propped on a workbench, Mrs Fogg tickling it with a saw and saying “you finish it now”, so as instructed I do with Mrs Fogg supporting the beams, well that is until she sees a sparrow hawk attacking a birds next and then she runs off to help the birds leaving muggings balancing a bloody great chunk of wood and hacksaw!! Thanks mate!

And that was day 1, with the logs cut and seated, day 2 was the easy bit, put down dry mix and go for a beer! Yup or actually nope, put down dry mix, find all the levels are off, threaten to kill each other, book someone else to finish it, wish you’d not got out of bed, get covered in cement, beat the daylights out of the wood with a mallet. But we did it, oh and this is the easy bit, apparently building the greenhouse takes 9 hours!!