Blow Thou Wind Southwesterly

Gosh it was windy today. So it was unfortunate that Did and Nick showed up to cut down the tall hedge. I suggested they come back on a calmer day, but they were typically gung-ho, at least Did was. Out came the chain saws, the goggles, the helmets, the ladder, and they were off. Terrifyingly huge branches came tumbling down as the wind fought against them, with Nick grabbing them before they toppled across the fence and dragging them to the designated bonfire spot. They had trouble getting the fire started: sacks of hay weren't enough, and so petrol had to be employed. I watched with interest, and it was Nick who had the real Ray Mears skills and got the thing going. Once alight it was hard to stop it: the strong southwesterly saw to that. The biggest tree was the first, and the hardest to fell, with its many stout branches to be sawn off in the face of the powerful tempest which threatened to whip them into Did's face as he straddled it. They zapped the biggest pieces into useful logs for my woodburner, and burned the rest.

After four hours they had had enough. "I have a real phoobia (sic) that I'll be killed just afore Christmas every year," Did confessed. "That getting up stronger now, and I fear that'll fetch one of they branches right into my face." I agreed, and they called it a day. Signal the lighting of roll-ups and Did in expansive mood as usual; Nick the gardener was more interested in my rare and unusual plants out front. As we followed him around, listening to his exclamations of delight, Did told me what he'd do to my shrubs: "I'd have him down to here," he said of my beautiful though admittedly overgrown pittasporum, indicating his hip. "What!" I cried. "That would kill it." "No," he drawled, "do that the world of good. Soon be up again." And so we continued around the garden, Did telling me of mass roses that he'd hacked to the ground to the owner's dismay only to be called next summer to come and see the magnificant display, better than ever. The same story applied to honeysuckle, wisteria and just about everything else. The thing about Did is that you can't help but believe him, he's so convincing. Val might be displaced come the spring.

I didn't have any cash to pay them to their obvious dismay, so I followed them to the cashpoint at Fram. They took the direct route, but I nipped down my shortcut, and was getting the cash when they pulled into the Co-op car park in the ancient Land Rover. "What kept you?" I asked as they looked at me slantwise, puzzled. It's not often you get one over on Did.