Picket Line

It being quite warm, I got out and about on the bike. There was a call in at the daughters to fix her leaking sink, a meet up with the son, and a drop in at the harbour (indeed) to check the boat and discuss mast lifting.
But to the main event, getting the pickets aff the busted fence. Miraculously they’re all intact, despite both rails being crushed. I phone the ‘tree surgeon’ to find a rather nice posh chap. It was a jolly difficult location, he tells me (me, thinks:just as well I didn’t have a greenhouse or shed there) - perhaps you need a health and safety refresher I say. Well, I did end up breaking a few rules, he confided, you ought not to be cutting above your head. And then: “I was hoping it would fall towards the road”. Hope: essential in tree surgery, obvs.
Anyway, he’ll pay for it to be fixed (I’ll do it myself) as that’s not really his line of work.
Ye gods. I googled him: his line of work? He’s a yoga instructor. Someone take the chainsaw off him before ... loud thump (sounds of screaming off stage).