There’ll be those...

... and don’t think we don’t know who you are, who will see this whole coppicing thing as a rerun of the steps writ large.

An overthehillman’s onanistic self pleasing with swipes of his Husqvarna blade. But, to be honest, (the last plea of the self serving cynic) I’ve nothing else to report on: the weather was mild, a lizard woken from slumbers essayed the balcony scene; the robins sang; the sombre tits gathered in their feed and the boyos across the valley did their eight hour stint, four hours on four, chainsaws in hand.

They’d be wanting a good solid Casentino supper, wine in plenty, crostini, tortellone di patate al ragù di cinghiale, a bit of roast chicken, cima di rappe, followed by apple pie, coffee and grappa just to forget the effort spent and the effort to come.

My day ended with two dead chainsaws and a billhook in the old style, the fire blazing fitfully like a drunken story teller in want of sleep.

Before the call of transatlantic complexities and
lawyers ‘ fees.