Worst Job of the Year
It might be described as a game: “Leafy-Poooey”, perhaps. Autumn leaves on the lawn from our beloved walnut tree in the garden, interspersed with what seemed like two hundredweight of Despoo. Oh dear. It really is a chore at the best of times to minesweep, but when the leaves are falling it’s Russian Roulette writ large. No wonder I’ve been putting it off.
Five hours, man and boy, bent at the waist, trying with my dodgy eyesight and mercifully impaired sense of smell, trying to descriminate brown from brown. I will be seeing hidden turds when I close my eyes tonight, I swear.