Posy

I awoke this morning to the aroma of a posy of men's aftershaves; Offsprog Two has a couple of Young Chaps dormitorying here with her. They arrive late at night, drink pints of tea; they leave early in the morning, after spiriting towels upstairs like fakirs of old collecting magic carpets to take them to far-away lands.
I sat out with the bees for hours, stopping for the occasional ice cream sanctioned by oral surgery on Tuesday that has left me with a mouth full of prickly stitches. I have been reading a PHD and I have just finished it. I read for six hours, almost non-stop, and now I feel that I know it well enough to examine it on Tuesday. This is the second time I've read it, this time noting questions I will be asking the candidate.
Now I can't decide what to do. no point in doing housework until the young people head off to do something else for a few days; they are clean and polite and tidy too, but I'm not sure what of the subtle debris is rubbish and what is precious treasure until they leave.
Walkies... hmm, despite taking Arnica furiously since Tuesday I have a brightly-coloured bruise that I am conscious of; perhaps an evening stroll would be better.
Songies? Possibly, possibly; though mouth a bit sore for expressive roarings.
As always, the decision will be made with a cup of tea in my hand.