I was titivating the garden fence yesterday, when I hammered my thumb. The incident had a cartoon-like quality: as soon as I'd hit my thumb, I knew it was going to happen. Fortunately, it didn't swell to the size of a tennis ball and turn purple.
Half the fence blew over in the winter winds and last week this section was replaced by fencing professionals. The new half looks almost IKEA in its fresh, uncluttered, linear perfection, whilst the old half looks a shambles.
I decided to disguise the join with a piece of trellis. I sawed the trellis to the size of the first old panel, then nailed it to the fence posts either side. The business of hammering was very loud and, for a moment, I was worried about disturbing the neighbours on a Sunday afternoon as clear and fresh as Scandinavia. Then I remembered that someone a few doors down had been singing along to ABBA with the windows open earlier in the day. Then the hammer slipped, and I swore.
The trellis piece looks like an over-sized, vertical waffle. I've threaded it with honeysuckle, virginia creeper, and a few strands of a giant breed of periwinkle which I was given years ago, and which returns every spring, despite my attempts to dig it out.
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