The Beast of Bransbury and further F******* Puddles

Following late night discussions over the fate of the fallen Field Maple that fell in our garden, and reclined on our roof throughout the night, it was decided that the course of action recommended by those clad in the finest fleece and cutting edge walking shoes, to stand back and record its decomposition from the kitchen window over the coming years, logging any flora and fauna aroused by its broken limbs would be ignored, and the decision was taken to cut the bloody thing up, which I have carried out for much of today, pausing only to mutter

"another chuffing tree down, but at least this one’s on dry land and not laid in another f****** puddle!"

It turns out the tree played host to the “Beast of Bransbury” a Puma, five feet in length that had been sighted on several occasions and photographed by people with keen interests in manual focus and depth of field.

If I had gone at this tree while it was still standing there is no doubt that I would have broken something.

Madams’ shed could have been flattened, the three lines of electricity that cross the garden left flapping, or several windows or walls left battered. The Good Lord laid this tree down with precision and the deftest of touch that broke nothing more than my best plant pot, I may even take in the “God Channel” during a lull in Match of the Day probably when Sir Shearer is on,

Say what you see Alan.

Alan: Well he’s taken it down on his chest and he’s kicked it toward the goal and the goalkeeper hasn’t saved it and it’s gone into the net, so it’s a goal

Gary: Thanks for the insight Alan . In today’s game at the Emirates.............

It’ll take a few days to clear up, and there was a hairy moment in the afternoon when the whole thing slipped eighteen inches down the bank, but the roof is now sheeted over and the tree lies in a million pieces in the garden awaiting storage. On the upside it couldn’t be closer to the log basket so with my time and motion head on it may be stacked in the garden ,as long as we leave space for the “cue ce barb” and a couple of chairs we’ll live with it this summer.

Thanks to all the offers of help in dealing with the busted boughs.

Late in the afternoon I nipped over to the Itchen in order to take in the effect of the weir that Wickes built beneath the M3 motorway.

There’s no direct route to be had around here, with many minor roads and the odd major road closed across the county. Half an hour later, after a distance of nearly twenty miles (please note Mr/Mrs/ Miss Taxman)The three hundred acre lake had yet to materialise but there was flooding in the meadows.

Winchester remains at risk. As a result Wickes, and the Beautiful British Army, have been summomned to make more weirs to stop Alfred’s seat from becoming too soggy; this time using the culverts under the A34.

It’s a great effort in desperate times, but may be a short term fix for a city, that when the rain recedes,will remain struck by groundwater flooding well into spring.

Strange days indeed (you’ve done that one to death ed)