There’s something very dark at work: the whole profession strikes me as being anchored in ancient superstitions
I’m sitting in my office shed while the squirrel eats the last of the summer’s tomatoes in front of me. He’s sitting on the corner of the raised bed just the other side of the glass, with a look on his face that says: I thought you’d want to see this.
Beyond the squirrel, a man in a hard hat is using a chainsaw to dismantle a lime tree in the lane running along the garden wall. Between cuts, my wife shouts up at him about the possibility of coming round to look at a tree on our side of the wall.
