In last week’s gales several large tree branches came crashing down. A further limb was left dangling, partially severed, perilously close to the steps that we use daily to go up to the garage or to collect the post. Mike decided that he would finish off the job. That was until he went to get the chainsaw. The mice have chewed off its rubber priming bubble. It’s a bit that apparently has a crucial role to play in getting petrol to the engine.
Creatures in the garden tend, by their nature, to be mine. ‘Wife’s woodpecker’, ‘Wife’s owl’, you get the drift. And never more so than when they have dropped me in it in some way. As now. It will be a week before we get the chainsaw back, £35 the poorer. And that’s without the cost of the two 30 mile round trips to the nearest agricultural equipment dealer.
Those mice are starting to become a serious liability.