16.12.19 Our [pedestrian] hero?

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Monday 16th 39F, overcast with a cold wind. The sun is teasing weakly from the safety of a narrow gap on the eastern horizon. I walked to the lanes along heavily littered roads with a cold neck and ears from the wind. Forgot my hood, but shan't make that mistake again.

Our densely hedge and tree protected home doesn't offer many clues as to the weather conditions just beyond the gate. By the time I am committed [sic] it is too late to return for missing items. Not while wearing, my already muddy, walking boots. We don't have a boot room at Chez Hovel. Just a rickety, old garden chair outside the back door.

Yesterday's gales had blown countless twigs and even quite large branches down. To be trampled by the headless, racing traffic. Our hero, being the only, sensible one present, felt he had to kick the larger branches onto the verge. Too many dog roses had long [sic] outgrown their hedge's vital support and had flopped downwind, into the road.

So I spent more of my precious remaining time trying to drag them parallel to the verge. So they were out of danger from cyclists and vehicles alike. Meanwhile I was dodging sociopathic drivers. Who no doubt all thought I was the real "nutter!" For wrestling with the scenery unpaid, or even without a tax refund.

Modern driving etiquette does not allow motorists to stop just to clear the roads of obstructions. That's a guaranteed death sentence! Nor does the council road sweeper ever come around any more. As they once did nearly a quarter of a century ago The now-antique vehicles have long since rusted away in the overgrown, council <cough> roadworks, scrap yards.

The risk of a rear-ender from some deluded, half-comatose, half-drunk, prescription trashed commuter. Or illegal, un-rested, "trafficked" Eastern European, articulated, lorry driver, is far too great. They are all half asleep from a restless night in the cab. But that's Denmark for you.

So it fell to me, as the token, pedestrian, to try and clear the smashed branches. Not to mention all the prickly headed, 5m [15'] tall, "standard" rose bushes. Which had hurled themselves thoughtlessly into the fray. No need to thank me. It's called "a thankless task."
 

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