Forever Autumn...

I have no trees in my garden.  And yet, piles of unwanted leaves are scattered around the outside of my house like winos in shop doorways.

When we had the windy night on Wednesday, the husband raised the question as to which would be the best way for it to blow?  Would it be better to go from back to front, steering the crispy invaders across the drive and over the road, or would a side to side gust be better.  Trouble is, both my neighbours have lovely trees in their gardens, so this could have brought even more trouble.

Coming back from walking the dogs on Thursday morning, the husband, dripping wet from the horizontal rain was muttering.   (I had done a deal the night before involving a chicken sandwich so that he'd walk the dogs - being a sensible old soul, I always check the weather).

'Well, at least we know where all the bloody leaves are'. he growled (he wasn't happy).

'Where did they end up then?'I asked, fearing the worst.  Well, apparently it wasn't any old wind which blew through here on Wednesday night, but a turbo boosted leaf blower of epic proportion.  The husband had left the house via the front door, and walking across the field in front of our house, had marvelled at the lack of leaves.  Where had they all gone?

By the time he returned, via the side gate, it all became very clear where they'd all gone.  

The path down the side of the house had disappeared, having been replaced by a three feet deep leafy carpet.  He'd pushed his way through the leaves, only managing to lose the dogs twice in the process, before finally reaching the gate.  Apparently, it took brute force to pull the gate towards himself, creating a gap just big enough to squeeze sideways through.

I have suggested that he should join The Leaf Police.  I say this, because as soon as the leaves start falling on our lawn some time around the end of September, he's out there with the mower 'hoovering' the grass.  As he scoots up and down the lawn, desperately trying to keep his lines straight, I watch with glee as the leaves in next door's trees start chortling, trying to plan the best time to launch themselves onto our lawn.  This is usually just as he retreats to the garage with the mower, having glanced back smugly at the leaf free lawn.

By the time he gets back into the kitchen, the lawn is covered with an autumnal quilt, and he skulks off to the lounge with yet more muttering.

Such is the life of the husband...


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