Father has expended just under seventeen pounds on a folding sickle. A sickle of all things. Some American cars are bigger than our front yard, we have no room to swing a small knife let alone a sickle.
Father is nearly eighty three and not getting more robust. On the other hand he seems to have got a new lease of life since he decided to help out the local church with maintenance. He is getting frailer and frailer and he is committing to doing the church grounds. If they were much larger than a bedspread I would be playing war. He is also muttering about the electrics. It is true that he was in the Royal Engineers and re-wired our kitchen when I was a child. That was in 1969. There are a few differences these days.
He also told me tomorrow was February. And he joked about crossing the road near the undertakers at the end of the street carrying said sickle. Most people can't tell the difference between a sickle and a scythe - anyway it looks like a short scythe to me.
I dread to think what will turn up next.
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