It’s bank holiday and there’s a
beer festival in the next village for me to get to. I walk down every year and
there’s always someone there that I know. But this year I’ve been tasked with
gardening before I’m allowed to head off. So I don my shorts and shears and climb
up to cut the hedge overhanging our garden. I’m armed with nothing but a stool
and a foot ladder. I do the outside first and chuck as much rubbish as I can
over the fence so that I’ve got less rubbish to carry back round with me. The
neighbours are impressed that I’m making an effort and that they’re getting enough
light and less troublesome branches in front of their homes. As I sweep up the
branches on the pavement, one of them lets me throw the branches in a skip that
he keeps in front of his garage.
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