The replacement of our side fence began yesterday, so we’ve been treated to sounds of drilling, sawing and angle grinding: more to come tomorrow. The chaps are doing a cracking job, and I think the new concrete posts and gravel boards promise a longer life than the old timber ones. Or let’s hope so anyway. This is the second time we’ve had to have this fence replaced. The December ‘named storms’ wrought havoc at the other side of the garden, so they’ll move on to that next. At the top of the garden, another of our neighbours’ fence posts has rotted: I suspect all that’s keeping it standing is our rose training wires.
Out the front, work has began to install our new fibre optic telephone cable, so there’s a digger making a hole in the footpath, and a powered circular saw cutting a trench from the hole along to where the cable will come into the garden. We didn’t get any notice of the job, so a lot of the fencing materials are lying right where the cable needs to run.
This all requires a steady supply of teas and coffees for the five workmen, of course, but they all seem nice chaps and they’re certainly grateful.
The world of politics has gone quite mad. As each days brings yet another outrage I no longer find myself thinking ‘this can’t be happening’ as I did in the first days following the inauguration: rather I’m wondering how we are to cope with the awfulness to come.
Fortunately, the garden is coming alive again after the gloomy months, and the days are getting longer at last. The climbing roses are pruned; bush ones next. The cornus is starting into growth, but I’ll put off the annual hack-down until the magnolia is in flower: it’s rather bleak out there when the coloured stems have gone. And goodness knows, we need something to lift the mood.
Two emails from BT this morning. One to say my pension will be going up by 1.7%. The other to say my mobile phone subscription is going up by 35%. Go figure.
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