Fit a burach

A flash of colour amongst the chaos

Fit a burach = what a mess in Doric, the Scots dialect of my beloved north-eastern Scotland. It describes perfectly our situation right now. Slightly over-dramatic, the lovely throaty, gutteral ch (as in loch, not lock, lochhhhhhh almost as if you're clearing some phlegm from your throat...yes, I know, so poetic. Think german sounds as in Ich) has a satisfying feel in your mouth that is almost akin to swearing.

So we're in a right burach. Up to our eyes in it.

The house is a mess, the garden is a mess, the laundry pile overfloweth and the allotment is just a disaster zone at the moment. The boys are hot and fractious and husband is struggling. In fact, we're all struggling. None of us cope with disorder very well.

I'm wondering why I have so many 'projects'. Why I've let things get so out of control. 

But not everything is within my control. The allotment and garden have gone mad after a month of rain and 3 days of glorious sunshine. 

The house...well, husband is a bit poorly just now so he's usual magic touch at transforming the chaos into order is sorely missed.

At least I can escape to work. At least, there, life is a bit more ordered. Predictable, in good way. With unlimited tea. And finally, I'm enjoying my job again. Moving company was a good move, that's for sure.

So.

One step at a time. The garden and allotment can wait. The laundry is going nowhere. This ice-cream won't eat itself though, and in this heat, it's going to melt if I don't hurry up and scoff it. 

The chaos can wait just a wee bit longer on this brau moonlit nicht the nicht (lovely moonlit night tonight ;-) )