Last Saturday was the day our big walnut tree had a haircut. It is a Japanese walnut so the nuts are small and hard to open. But the neighbours and we all agree it is a beautiful thing to behold - so beautiful that we can forgive the little bit of delinquency to which large old trees are prone. Two or three large limbs were hanging over my neighbour's garage - and rotting in areas that made a crushed car (or neighbour) a certainty in years to come.
Chainsaws were revving and flashing - branches dropping - ladders going up and down. What I noticed was the age of the blokes engaged with the lopping - between the four of us the average age was 68.
Her serene loveliness introduced herself to the tallest bloke there who said his name, and added: "OBE". "OBE"? she asked interestedly. "Yes - Over Bloody Eighty".
He didn't look it. Is 80 the new 60? Each one of us was capable of climbing up the tree or ladders, except for the one who was sitting down much of the time complaining of diseased lungs or other such nonsense.
Well, it was a nasty virus and I wasn't over it yet.