Aussie Dad commented on my last post that the only thing to fear for the future was the sacrifice of smart nails to the gardening gods. Well, fear not! That isn’t going to be a problem for two reasons.
1. I have had the hands of a 90 year old since I was about 20. I am always surprised when I see the hands of other women my age (somewhat less than 90) and realise that their hands don’t look like mine. Maybe they remember to use hand cream? I don’t mind – I like my hands. Their wrinkles and
age spots freckles give them character.
2. D’s mum foresaw the risk and has sent a parcel including a rather spiffy pair of hot pink gardening gloves! This is presumably based on her experience of gardening, although she has more important things to think about like protecting her plants from wallabies and avoiding the black/brown/insert-deadly-colour-here snakes. She also sent a pair of heavy-duty man gloves for D, a lovely handmade placemat and a scarf which I suspect is meant for D but which I have my eye on. Just because. Aren’t we lucky?
So, when we a) get to Portugal, b) find a house and c) get started on the gardening, my hands will be well protected. And if they are not, I’m not sure anyone would be able to tell the difference.