So on the back of the can't stop crying thanks to
family abandonment issue I decided to do what I usually do...channel my impotent anger and sorrow into something productive. In this case, pruning the photinia that was starting to damage the fort I built for the kids a few years back. Halfway through cutting through the branch that was pushing into the fort there was a cracking sound. Not from the branch but, rather ominously, from near the base. And just like a buxom opera singer on her final curtain call, the whole thing curtsied majestically to the ground.
See all that there photinia? It used to be three metres off the ground. Fuck. My. Life. And fuck the photinia, which I will now have to disassemble with a bloody hand saw and a pair of secateurs. As I stood there in shock, surveying the devastation my sassy pants little girl came and stood beside me.
"Mama," she said quite calmly, "you said you were going to prune it. Not kill it."
Thank you sweetheart.
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