Michael
Over several weekends, we’ve made great progress. What was once an impenetrable thick of spikes, spines, stings, thorns and prickles has transformed into a large area of rough grass on the one hand and a giant bonfire heap on the other.
Charlotte is happily drilling holes in brick, knocking in wall-plugs and screwing vine-eyes. “What’s it going to be?” asks Ben, nodding her way.
“She’s putting up trellises for climbing roses. She reckons she can rescue some of those we clipped right back.”
“Not a very feminine activity, is it?” he comments, an acid edge to his voice.
I refuse to rise. “She’s not the useless type. And I’m only going to interfere if….” The buzz of the drill rises to a squeal….
Ben eyes me. “…. If she’s trying to drill into something she hasn’t got the shoulders
