Yesterday afternoon I took my new(ish) Flymo Sabre hedge-hacker for a trip out. It is a beast. I really quite like it. I did the hedges in “my garden”*. Given the weather over the summer this was a big job but with my vicious new toy I decided to also trim a seriously over-grown footpath just by he house that is arguably either our, the local church or the council’s remit (and the council are about as much use as a chocolate teapot – they paint around pot-holes in the road and then do nothing – at one point four of the blighters drove all the way from Macclesfield to ring in paint one pothole and then did a Keyser Söze). The hacking needed to be done anyway and I had the means so I gave it the sort of haircut only the USMC gives to recruits. It was becoming a tunnel if you see what I mean. So, I ask my wife about the whole trimming thing both there and on our gaff because I want a second opinion (a bit much there, perhaps more needed here, you know the sort of thing). I mean it’s tricky to assay when stuff is going everywhere.
So I’m in my garden talking to her when some prod-nosed cunt mooches around and starts telling me off for what I had left on the footpath. And you know what? The fucker comes onto private property (not mine but as warden obviously It’s kinda my domain and it certainly isn’t his) and starts gobbing it off about the mess I have created. Now he doesn’t accuse me directly of this sin but says, “someone did it”. That raised my hackles. If someone is prepared to come onto the gaff I look after and give me evils without directly stating it they are a cunt so low they leave snail-tracks everywhere they creep on their raggedy claws in my book.
Now if I’d done this on Thursday and left it overnight fair enough from him. I had though done this about thirty minutes before and then did the rest of the lane (the council grit box was looking like the lost temples of Ankor Wat) and I had taken the idea to do the cutting first and then the clearing as the most efficient way of doing the job. This numpty arse-bugler who mistakes rabbit tods for aniseed balls simply didn’t think that certain jobs take time (not a lot of time as I hinted). But I didn’t do it Thursday. I did it half an hour before and had other cutting to do before the picking-up the total gap between me doing the path and picking-up was under an hour). He never even guessed that I’d clear-up which (with my wife) I always knew I was going to do. He just assumed. Possibly he had decided to write an outraged letter to the Daily Mail.
Subsequently my wife and I tidied (as always planned) the path. This was actually a priority because I know a lot of dog-walkers use it and a load of holly and nettles is not good for paws. Oddly enough whilst doing that a couple of dog-walkers ambled past and praised my work. It was terribly overgrown due to our tropical summer. So much improved in under an hour. Maybe if I’d worn a high-viz coat and was like “official” or something he’d have been OK but no. After a brief harangue (in my own garden that he had entered without my let) I uttered the only words in the English language that covered my outrage at someone criticizing me (indirectly, recall – that really got my goat, tied it to a post and then buggered it senseless) for doing a good thing.
Dear reader, in the end, I told him to fuck off. And he did fuck off. And so endeth the lesson.
And if he come round again he knows I have a Flymo Sabre and an intemperate disposition towards pigeon-chested abattoir-creepers like himself.
*It’s a big one and I am warden, not owner. Note also we have a stream and he didn’t cross it. There is a bridge but he harangued me from the other side. Wanker. He could have come over but didn’t. If there is a disagreement honour states it ought to be carried out at the range where it could end with agreement and a handshake or alternatively (this is sub-optimal) a shiv under the fifth rib.