сюрприз!

I took this picture as I was coming off the Thames Path the other night when I went to The Moth. I passed these two women and noticed they were wearing "I (heart) London" t-shirts and wanted to work them into a photo somehow. So I passed them and, at the top of the stairs, turned as if to photograph the river. Unfortunately I only had time for one shot and one of them was slightly behind the other, but still -- I think the picture turned out OK.

That word in the title of my post is the Russian word syurpriz, which means exactly what you think it does: Surprise!

I went next door yesterday morning to ask the Russians about the quince plant next to our front door. (Mrs. Russia never responded to my e-mail.) When I knocked, Mr. Russia answered, and I told him I didn't want to make a big deal about it, but if there was any way that plant could be moved to another location I would be grateful. He said he "would ask."

About ten seconds later Mrs. Russia was at my door, and her first words were, "Well, I'm glad you suddenly care about the appearance of the property!" So it's apparent that she's still tied in knots about the front garden, even though in the end it was trimmed exactly as she wanted. I only resisted her idea to tear out and replant the shrubbery. She appears to believe I should be serving as her personal gardener and caring for everything to her specifications.

I basically ignored all that and said the quince's plastic pot looked trashy and I didn't want it next to my door. I suggested putting it in a nicer pot, or moving it elsewhere. So she picked it up and moved it down next to the street, behind some other bushes. (Maybe it will get stolen.)

And that's when the syurpriz comes in.

"It will only be there for another month anyway," she said.

I asked why, and she revealed that she and her family are...

...wait for it...

MOVING!!!!

I tried to keep a very neutral reaction even though inside I felt a tsunami of joy and relief. She said they will be renting out their flat and they're leaving at the end of this month.

"Will you have a garden?" I asked her.

"Yes, a big garden," she said.

"That's good," I replied. "I think you need more space." (Translation: You need to stop tearing apart your tiny flat over and over out of sheer cabin fever.)

Of course, this could all still go horribly awry. Maybe a death metal band will move in and practice on the terrace. Maybe they'll be cooking meth or growing weed. Maybe they'll have a hundred children, or they'll be farming iguanas. Or all of the above.

But knowing the Russians and how meticulous they are, I doubt they'll rent their precious flat to just anyone. In fact, I would not be at all surprised to find that they already have an acceptable tenant lined up. Goodness knows I would not want them as landlords.

Meanwhile, this was one of my projects for the day. I worked in the garden, trimming and neatening, and I mowed the lawn. The rear area around the teasels is still unmowed for the insects' sake, but otherwise I somewhat tamed the jungle. I filled two and a half yard waste bags, and I also vacuumed and took Dave's concert clothes to the cleaners and did some other small tasks.

Afterwards, lying on the couch reading blogs, I rewarded myself with chocolates! One of Dave's students gave him some fancy Belgian chocolates in a very unwieldy box. As you can see, the box is longer than Olga, and she is not a particularly small dog! I think I'm going to wind up eating most of them because I like them more than Dave does. Not exactly a good step toward developing my summer beach body.