Craic On

The topiary at the top of my garden is definitely due a hair cut. I’ve resisted doing it myself because a lack of three dimensional vision has lead me to the conclusion that I have no skills in this department. Months of covid lockdown have lead me to the same conclusion about my own hair. The only thing that I can say about cutting my own hair is that it would be shorter. Some relief has come about, over recent days, at the thought of a garden that is running wild, inhabited by an owner with wild hair, once clipped to within an inch of their lives. It has come about because I lost my reading glasses. I lost them without noticing, which shows how much use they are. I have been looking for my readers, for over a week now. I have looked in the dishwasher. I have done a meticulous finger search of nearly ten days of household waste. I have been through the mounting bags of charity shop donations as well as the ironing, the washing and my phone book, asking anyone who has dropped off food at my door, or sat