Day Twelve – Blisters, Binoculars, and the Great Hedge Finale.

 "Something tells me a gardener’s hands may soon tell more secrets than the gossip at lunchtime"

Back with Fred and Graham again today — clearly I’ve been adopted as their unofficial sweep-up sidekick. This time, we erected the mobile tower (which sounds far grander than it actually is — really just scaffolding on wheels) so they could reach the tops of those monstrous hedges from yesterday. My role was mainly mule duty: carrying bits and bobs to them while they put it all together. Once they started clipping, I retreated back to the dahlias for another round of deadheading. At this point, I’m practically on first-name terms with every bloom.

The real entertainment came at lunch. Vic decided to torment poor Raymond — as if his dodgy feet and untrustworthy digestive system weren’t enough, apparently his eyesight is shot too. Vic tried to convince us that Raymond reads his newspaper by propping it up at one end of his sitting room and then perching in the armchair at the other, binoculars in hand. A vision that, once lodged in my brain, may never leave. Raymond, unflappable as ever, gave nothing away except a sharp remark about Vic’s “poorly informed sources.”

By the end of the day, the hedges were neat, the clippings swept and hauled away, and the tower dismantled. Mission accomplished.

Unfortunately, in my infinite wisdom, I’d forgotten my gloves this morning. After hours of raking, forking, and — dare I say it — erections (of the tower variety, thank you very much), my poor hands are riddled with blisters. Now the eternal question: to pop or not to pop?