Men at work ...

Yesterday afternoon, on our return from our Blippers' meet-up, Mr PB decided to have a go at the back hedge - a sizeable lump of privet between our back garden and our neighbours'. Having ascertained that our electric hedge clippers were indeed kaput, he launched forth with the hand shears ... and retired, defeated, after half an hour. The shears were stiff (they don't get a lot of use these days) and the hedge intractable. Not only that: it appeared to have increased in size more than seemed feasible. It seemed foolish to risk frozen shoulders, arthritis, and all the other ills that flesh is heir to ...

(Where did that bit come from?)

Today I proposed a walk with my pal, and was invited to bring along the moribund clippers for her man to play with while we were out. He is the envy of the 'hood because he has not only a garage in which they don't house a car, but also a workbench. My photo shows the two of them giving the last rites to our clippers, which were indeed past saving. Heart failure was diagnosed in the form of a burnt-out something-or-other (you can tell I'm no expert, but apparently it smelled burny) and the Last Rites were intoned.

In other news, we learned today that "limited singing" in the shape of solo singing or chanting, would be allowed in churches which reopen for worship.
 "Current advice is that singing, chanting or shouting should be avoided but that where it is essential to an act of worship, a single individual may sing or chant behind a plexi-glass screen, in which case any screen used should be cleaned regularly. Singing or chanting over the Communion elements should be avoided." 
I've just been participating in some social media hilarity over quite what shouting might be envisaged, and who might do it. I know the authorities, the committees, all those charged with framing guidelines - they're all trying to cover every eventuality, trying to keep us safe; but I shudder slightly at the thought of what might be taken from these instructions.

Watch this space ...