Monthly musings of the naughtily nice kind

I wish I could shrug off this wretched sense of responsibility. ‘You'll be hard-pressed to find someone more responsible and reliable than a Virgo,’ said some astrologer or other online. Speaking as a Virgo, it’s a curse. I’d so much rather be a Sagittarius. (Irresponsible, fun-loving). Why couldn’t I have hung on in the womb for another two months? But I’m stuck with it. The responsible Virgo.

I even feel responsible for things that are way out of my orbit. When I was watching the Queen coming tottering out onto the balcony for her Jubilee wave, I shouted, ‘HOLD HER ARM, CHARLES! HOLD IT!’ Charles was probably saying that to himself. I saw him hesitate.

Today the lorry came to clear out our septic tank. (Don’t worry, I’m going to change the subject in a minute). It’s on a steep overgrown slope and I was terribly afraid he was going to fall into it. I could hardly prevent myself from rushing out with a rope. I offered him a cup of coffee. He liked the idea. I placed it on the gatepost. He was busy fiddling about with the septic tank. The minutes passed. Half an hour passed. Oh God! The coffee was going to be cold! What should I do? Go out and offer him another? Take it in and microwave it? But doesn’t that affect the taste?

And microwaves – aren’t they terribly dangerous? How could I have let that happen? Let alone the war in Ukraine. Why didn’t I deal with Putin when I had a chance? OK, I never had a chance, but I could have made a chance. Why didn’t I travel to Russia, arrange an introduction and change the course of history, not by assassinating him (please! I can barely assassinate lily beetles), but by getting him interested in herbaceous perennials? So instead of creating mayhem and causing death, destruction and heartache to millions, he’d be harmlessly creating an English Garden at the Kremlin, and posterity would celebrate him alongside the great gardeners. Yes, it could have been Vita Sackville-West, Gertrude Jekyll and Vladimir Putin, if I had done the decent thing and made an effort for once.

And speaking of Vita Sackville-West (which we’d rather), why didn’t I go to Sissinghurst when I was a callow teenager and she was a grande dame, and she could have taught me all about old roses, and introduced me to Sapphic amours? Instead I just festered in my bedroom listening to Elvis. I suppose that’s not about taking responsibility so much, I’m just riffing now on the general subject of Missed Opportunities. But I mustn’t! I must get back to writing about Taking Responsibility! Just idly riffing is so irresponsible! It’s what a Sagittarius would do!

Speaking of Elvis – that’s one of the worst examples of my neglect. Why didn’t I get a flight to Graceland, storm up the path and cry, ‘Put down that burger, Elvis! Get an exercise bike! And All-Bran can be awfully helpful, y’know!’ But I didn’t do it. And the rest is history.

While I’ve been ranting on about my failures of responsibility, the dirty pots have slumbered unwashed, the dog is sulking unwalked, and the garden is wilting unwatered.

What I have been doing, apart from writing this, is watching the house martins nesting on the front of our house, and keeping half an ear on Test Match Special. After all, if the eggs are addled and the Test Match lost, it’ll all be my fault. So, I’ve got to stay on high alert. It’s a question of priorities.

Follow Sue on Twitter: @sue_limb