I'm scratched, bleeding and feel like I've been beaten with a very big, very dirty, stick.
No, I haven't gone head to head with a T-Rex, I've been gardening (sorry to disappoint my adoring fans).
How fun. Now, I must state here that I'm not a huge fan of gardening. And I'm not talking about gardening as in the fire-break sense (where you just go berserk with the old whipper snipper), I'm talking about the gardening where you rage a day long battle against weeds and tap roots, fighting valiantly against grass seeds and millipedes just to be beaten at the end by those bloody snails!
We have a bricked in area that extendeds about four meters out from the front door and most of that is an over-choked garden full of spiky natives, wild roses and my arch nemesis - the spider plant. I decided this morning that there were too many plants and that over half of them had to go. And so I set to work, digging and pulling and swearing and sweating and cursing. It was very ladylike of me!
And so, as the sun set over a pink horizon, I stood back to admire my handiwork. Unfortunately, the heap of torn and discarded plants that I had piled on the verandah was about three meters high and I couldn't see my handiwork, which was a little disappointing, but I'm sure I'll get over it.
And so, I retired to a hot shower, letting the soap painfully cleanse my gaping wounds and wash away the stink of battle, until tomorrow, when the war continues.