Eeek
I have turned middle-class and middle-aged in my sleep (which was full of very odd dreams). I have spent the last couple of hours not only mowing the lawn but edging it as well, and tidying all the bits into the composting bag, and pulling weeds out of the border and path. And on a bank holiday too. All is lost.
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And there may well be gardening later in the weekend, but thankfully we have no lawn to edge, and hacking at the pyrocanthus with secateurs/prodding the herbs and veg to see if they're growing probably isn't quite so middle-aged...
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Middle aged is watching your kids do the gardening while you drink beer and shout 'missed a bit'.
Middle class is watching your gardener do it.
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Myself, I've been finishing off the installation of an extractor fan in the shed :)
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I am happier in my middle classness and middle age-ness than I was at most points previously, whether being a hippy/goth, or a world weary traveller, or an unworking novelist, or whatever. Don't knock it. There's a lot to be said for the comfortable life. For a start, I have more time to examine the duplicities of government, time to learn things I didn't know before. The gardening world of middleageness is really no bad place to be.