As you know, I am not one to complain or make a fuss but holy crap the Gas Networks hole-filling team have made a massive mess.

I know it’s not entirely their fault as the rain of the last couple of days has had a lot to do with it but everyone’s garden is awash with mud.

Which is great when you have a cat who meanders in and out as she feels.

I suspect we’ll wake up covered in muddy paw prints tomorrow.

What’s really good about the mud bath is that there’s even mud in places where no mud should be – in our garden, for instance, there is mud all down the path at the bottom of the garden. Nowhere near the hole at all. Next door, where OCD reigns supreme and the lawn is immaculate it’s… well, I suspect she’s already written a letter of complaint.

In a bit of casual sexism this afternoon, one of the hole fillers knocked on the back door to ask if they could use the hose to wash the path down or, more accurately, leave the same amount of mud on the path but cover the hose in it too.

When he knocked, I opened the back door and – as he was already helping himself to the hose anyway – he launched into a “hiya lovey, I was just wondering…” before looking up and hastily rewriting his speech to include the word “mate” in place of all the lovies and sweethearts he had planned.

As he took the hose he said, “yeah, just to wash the path mate cos…” and he just looked at it and continued, “well, it is what it is, innit?”

What it is, is a fricking mess.