Saga of a woman old enough to know better who lets her life be governed by the ridiculous hobby of breeding and showing dogs, musing on life, the twenty first century, Cameron and his mini-me, and the occasional sheep.

Saturday, May 11, 2013


The local council has gone tree mad.  Suddenly the fields above my house are infested with little men in high-viz jackets, planting  row upon row of saplings in little protective sleeves.

Needless to say, the dogs highly approve of this.   And so, I think, will the local vandals.  I don`t give much for the trees` chances, even behind deer fencing.  The council will get a grant for them provided they are cared for - well, knowing council workers, I still don`t have much hope for them.

Meanwhile it all makes work for the working man to do, and reminds me of the joke that sums up  my experience of council workmen :

One morning a man was looking out of his window, and saw a strange thing.   The road had a broad grass verge, and two council workmen were working on it. One would dig a large squarish hole, then move on a few yards and dig another.   Meanwhile the second man followed behind and filled in the holes.

Our man was consumed by curiosity.   He went out and asked "What are you doing?   One digs a hole, the other fills it in - it makes no sense!"

"Aye well," said the council workman, "I can see it would look a bit confusing.  You`re just not getting the full picture.   You see, the guy who plants the trees called in sick."
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