The weeds in my garden are taller than I am, and I am 5ft 8in. With no visiting sons and grandsons this year, who usually clear it, it has become a wilderness. Rather like Trump is ignoring the coronavirus or anything that is vaguely important for that matter, I happily ignore my garden. The difference is that in the end I get a guilty conscience, something Trump will never have, which finally forces me to face reality. Are my weeds invading the neighbours' land, are they choking the fruit trees and is it a blot on the landscape? The answer to all those questions is a resounding 'yes' so I venture up and try to tackle it. All I have is a pair of shears so I am on a loss leader from the start, but I am determined. After 2 hours I am hot and sweaty, covered in sticky things which cling to my clothes and my arms are covered in a rash, even though I am wearing long sleeves. The garden? That looks much the same.
I sent messages to my family that my reward for tackling the garden was a rash on both arms. Funny how I never seem to get sympathy. Is it because they are all male I wonder? Anyway their responses were - set fire to it, get goats, make goats' cheese and try poison. And my rash? What about my rash? No comment.
I sent messages to my family that my reward for tackling the garden was a rash on both arms. Funny how I never seem to get sympathy. Is it because they are all male I wonder? Anyway their responses were - set fire to it, get goats, make goats' cheese and try poison. And my rash? What about my rash? No comment.
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