Aren't you glad the Olympics are over?
I sure am.
Not that I don't have my favourite moments (personally, I couldn't go past our blond Aussie pole vaulter pretending he couldn't jump anything much until the last moment, then scraping over to win GOLD, then backing up nonchalantly to notch up an Olympic record to boot! I wonder if he plays poker too?).
...
And it's not that I didn't
love the fortnight of flashing of perfect human form - think Michael Phelps
abdomen ...
Dear Lord, is that thing
legal?
...and the Jamaican Bolt's incredible thighs, our sweet gay Aussie high diver's perfect lil' butt... (reminds me of my grandmother, who was a saucy old thing, gazing at the swimmers during the Brisbane Commonwealth Games and declaring: "My, they DO have dear little bottoms!" to her slightly stunned granddaughter) ...and the super slow-mo's of the volleyball girls and the marathon women's fat-free legs as they leapt gazelle-like and ran ludicrous distances in the name of Sport. And Voyeurism. Ah, the Olympic spirit!
...
I had a horrible moment myself, when I briefly contemplated what my thighs might look like in slow-mo. A ripple of Olympic Closing ceremony proportions...
*shudder*.
So I turned the TV off and started on an Olympic event of my own.
...
One that I really should have put in some serious training for.
Because God knows that I am badly out of shape, for all events except the Olympic washer-to-dryer lift and dishwasher-unload. I'm starting a campaign to have those two events added to the 2016 games.
Anyone with me?
...
No, really, the event I decided (in a rush of Olympic-inspired blood) to take on was...
The Clover Spraying.
By hand.
With a 12 litre backpack pump.
Made for a bloke about a foot taller than me.
And to top it off, I decided to add pink dye to the spray, to see where I had been.
Very practical, no?
Hmmm....
Well my friends, today, I look out over my lawn and imagine the inviting lush green of a clover-free summer yard. And I do my level best to ignore my bruised shoulders, from 10 loads of clover and bindii poison. I ignore the abdomen muscles shaken rudely from years of hibernation with my four-and-a-half hour spraying stint. I ignore the sunburn around my neck (it's Winter here, I forgot my sunscreen, OK?). I ignore the aching leg muscles and shaky wrist from holding the spray nozzle in a certain position for hours on end. And I ignore the fact that I was so dog-tired after this unanticipate physical activity that I couldn't even keep my eyelids open to see the start of the Closing Ceremony. I ignore it all.
Yes I do.
Do so!
...
I ignore all these factors, and overcome my badly out-of-shape physique, and look at this:
Yeah.
Whole new meaning to painting the town red, eh?
Painting Granite Glen pink.
So can you see how it might look in a few weeks?
All verde and even and lush?
You've just got to use your imagination!
Luckily mine is in tip-top shape...
Ripped, you might say.
Your Olympic candidate for Imagination .
BB
Question: What was your favourite Olympic moment, and why?
Ice, ice, baby!
Winter has arrived at Granite Glen.
to yellow 
Cherish and enjoy ... 
