It's That Time

It's that time of the year.  The grass is growing fast, and so is my hair apparently.

From today's photo shoot I can see that my fringe need cutting 

So I got on the phone and fortunately my hairdresser could fit me in for a "quickie" later.

Happy days.

The Photographer was busy doing his Good Works, so I took some makeshift photos.

M&S side-zip stone crops with Woolovers breton-stripe-top in Linen/navy colourway,

with H&M denim shirt.

So, it's that time of year.  The grass is growing. My hair is growing.

The garden springs alive and demands attention. 

I'm busy doing a bit of work in the garden most days.  The pergola's grape vines have been radically cut back, the wisteria re-tied and bushes and the olive trees pruned. 

It's also Pollen Time!  And on some days I am suffering.  Today was one of those days.

My eyes were itchy and bleary-red.  I dosed up on anti-histamine.

And lay down to "rest my eyes". 

Of course, that is Pensioner-speke for a snooze.  I woke up, checked my watch ... Cripes! Ten minutes past my hairdresser appointment.  I jumped into the car and raced off, whilst observing the speed limit of course.  I'd had missed my slot and she was wrist deep in some lady's foils, so I made a quick deal with her for a quick fringe tidy-up before both she and I go off on our holidays.  Separately, I should clarify.

It's that time of year.  And it's that time of life.  Napping Time.

A la perchoine.