If you can't say anything nice, take lessons from the gardner

I have just had a lovely experience. Actually, two if you count me finding a pack of Love Hearts that I didn't know I had in my bag. (Although I have literally no idea what 'Happy Harry' means.)

A little background information is necessary as otherwise you might think I'm some sort of Lady La-De-Da living the toff's dream on my country estate. In actual fact I live in an housing association flat which I fondly refer to as my shoebox. It has all the mod cons of running water, a front door and noise amplifying walls. There's no room for a washing machine but the aforementioned luxuries more than make up for that. 

But the one thing we do have is lovely, well kept gardens. Well kept by a lovely gardner. And he is at the centre of my lovely experience because today I overheard him talking about me and, to my astonishment, didn't utter a single, bad word. I'm not boasting here, I'm just suitably knocked about by life and cynical enough to think that such a wonderful thing couldn't be possible. 

Today I discovered that it is and am delighted to be considered a 'lovely, little girl' (despite being 38. Although I cannot deny being short.) Faith in humanity restored. That is all.