A Weed Too Far.

Well, the  tree surgery wasn't a problem.
(Not me doing, it, of course.)
A couple of minutes of conversation and not only is the overhanging tree well pruned back, the nice people even took way the dead wood from my own trimming efforts of about eighteen months ago.
(No, I was not climbing ladders even than: I have a pole lopper from the time I had a mad Californian lilac, in a previous garden, that didn't know when to stop.)

Getting a couple of trains running wasn't too much of a problem, either.
About three hours with proper rest (i.e fifteen minutes!)

Trouble was I blew it on the lying on the grass, listening to the relaxing clickety-clack of the wheels.
Yes, I got that far, and it was good.  And I did five minutes of weeding at the appropriate time.
But then there were the weeds right next to the ones I had pulled when my five minutes was up.  And the ones next to those that also needed culling...
At least I only went slightly mad.
I could also see where I need to work on the stream and the watermill lead; and on the camomile, trimming and transferring cuttings.
And on truing the track in three or four places, though it isn't disastrous.
It nearly all needs the ballast topping up, though, and I've got an untouched sack of chippings for that.

And that's even before I start to think of making *progress* with new station buildings...
...no, I've not yet completely acclimatised to my new limits of activity, where an afternoon's railway work now takes two or three months, assuming nothing of actual importance and priority turns up.

I've mostly acclimatised, and can usually plan on the correct scale and timetable, but just occasionally the difference really strikes home.

And now, due to the weeding  binge, tomorrow must be a *quiet* day.
Perhaps I will be able to listen to the clickety-clack, and leave it at that.