It is an ill wind, they say, that blows no good. And so it was last week as I surveyed the wreckage of the barrier separating me from my neighbour, and offered up a brief prayer of thanks to Aeolus, the God of Wind and his lately numerous offspring: Ciara, Dennis, Ellen.
For this was the second time in a matter of months – third in a year – that storms had decimated the 6ft fencing that keeps my neighbours safe from me and my wild, Independent-leaning ways. My back garden looked, felt, like a mouth with a tooth missing.
My cat, a boisterous disrespecter of boundaries, is celebrating. He goes where he will: more to the point, eats and sleeps where he will. But this new and open vista is exciting. Like going to sleep in the back of a wardrobe and waking in an open-ended winter wonderland.
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