You know, every woman should have a man as a slave.

Okay I'm kidding - don't kill me in the comments. It's a marriage joke. It flips the whole 'wife should be chained to the kitchen' thing, and uses gender roles as comedy. Men, don't get hysterical.

With my hip problem, Jamie's forced me to rest. That doesn't mean I can't order him about. Generally, I can only give him one instruction at a time as men struggle in retaining more than one order.

Also a joke.

Being the darling he is, when I was crying about not being able to do anything, he said 'don't worry, I can do it for you'. Cunning plan, hip.

So this weekend was shovelling a heap of compost into the raised beds, because they'd settled some what over the last six months. I put a heap of straw in there to help with moisture retention. It's going to be a hot summer, they say. There's logs at the bottom holding moisture too - a kind of hugelkultur effect. He planted my flowers too.

He also dug out the huge umbrella plant who's roots actually totally f*ked our fishpond. I like the fishpond. The birds like it. The insects like it. We are NOT filling it in, dear husband. He promised he'd dig it a little deeper and wider, and get the pond in sharpish.

He also chainsawed the tree that fell over the fence line in the high winds.

Meanwhile, I took a supervisory role, but also did six loads of washing (the clothes in storage in the bus smelt a little musty), baked some bread, made banana and yoghurt cake, changed the beds, and planted sunflower seeds.

I'm not completely useless.