Local trades

I mentioned the other day that we’d found a tame brickie nearby, and that he’d done a decent job for a sensible price.  By similar means (google ‘joiner’ and location) we found a chap five minutes’ walk away who has provided us with a seemingly solid wooden side gate to replace the rather manky old wrought iron job we inherited, and which a would-be burglar had little trouble lifting off its hinges, padlock notwithstanding.  (Fortunately, Martyn heard what was going on, and scared him off.). The new gate has a substantial latch and two bolts, and the price was not exorbitant.  In times when the talk of cowboys and rogue traders is all too common, it’s nice to know there are some good ‘uns close at hand.  Meanwhile we wait to see if anyone on Freegle wants a tired old wrought iron gate.

Of the motor trade, I am as usual less than complimentary.  OK, they lent me a nice little automatic Škoda for the day (though that turned out to cost me a £12 ‘admin fee’), but they tried as usual to get me to buy extras not listed in the service schedule, and tried a second time after I’d already declined.  The good news was that the Ateca passed its first MoT, and that the work was finished earlier than I’d expected.  The day before, I heard a talk about modern slavery and people trafficking, and have resolved to do my own car washing henceforth, except when it goes in for service, and gets a wash and sweep out as part of the price.

Out in the garden we have had the last of the tomatoes, but the beans continue to crop like mad.  Roast hen tonight with some home-grown veggies and some bought ones.  I shall put in our order for next year’s charlottes in the coming days. I did a bit more dead-heading between showers the other day, and the rudbeckias haven’t quite finished yet.  The grass wants a cut, but with all the rain we’ve had, it can want for a bit longer.  The leaves have begun to fall, but the majority has yet to land on our immaculate greensward (irony).  The other autumn ritual is the trimming of the poxy leylandii.  Our man is on notice, but has yet to call and fix a date.  We’d ideally like rid of them all, but until next door replace their rotten fence, the green boundary is preferable.

As for the ever depressing world of politics, I must keep my own counsel for a few more months.  Suffice it to say that I’d give my pension to be a fly on the wall at the weekly audience.